Tangerine

My horizon is a dusty orange glow It takes me back to other oranges that feel like my mother’s lukewarm hugs in our living room back when the eggshell walls swallowed the crisp yellow to spit back a clement honey glow. They resemble the photon spill on his olive skin …

An excerpt

…. Loving you was like a natural disaster Unavoidable really And not something you can plead with to take it easy on you I doubt you can convince the floods to love you and go the other way I doubt you can negotiate terms with a tsunami or a tornado …

If you told me you never cry I'd call you out on your big fat lie Tears are for your eyes To keep your corneas clean To cry is for the despondency within.

…It should be okay Be to sad sometimes Because sadness is heavy It keeps our feet on the ground Happiness,Not one where you brazenly laugh And look around to check if they've heard Or the one you wear round your neckAnd open your blouse to let them seeBut real happiness,swells …

ጉሮሮውን ጠራረገና ወረቀቱን ጠበቅ አድርጎ ለመጀመር እንደገናፍርሐቱን ለመደበቅ በፈገግታ አይኑ እያየኝ"ልቤ እየመታ አስቸገረኝ" አለኝ::የዋህነት ሲፈታተንህ ነውተራነትህ ካላስደነገጠህማምኑን ኖርከውበደንብ ምታ በለው::

When we're older we'll tell storiesOf the time as little kidsAliens came to our home.They lived their lives in boxes and boxesAnd saved their emotions in their little pockets.Their smiles stopped just short of their eyesStrong arms and stronger mindsBut still they tripped and fell over on little rocksAnd the …

Young Adult

We were minds of timid curiosity Touching, prodding, slowly patting If it bites, jump back but it must be okay if it doesn’t. Overly imaginative, a little crazy and very stupid But I guess it’s all the same It was celebrated Or met with a slap on the wrist To …

I am Not a Poet

This is not a poem.I promise you I am not a poet.This is sometimes the way I talk.And it if kinda rhymes,it is by accident.Coincidence. I hear poets feel a lot,See a lotHear a lotBecause they pay attention.I pay attention.How can I not?How can you not?When hearts are breaking all …

Bohemian Heart 

The other day, I dreamed of  a little cabin with mud and hardwood walls and old fashioned neon orange light bulbs hanging from the ceiling on thin, long wires. You smelled of pine and raindrops and you danced with me to the beat of our bare stepping feet, A charged …

Poetry

It’s not bad or good It’s real or fake Because there is no good or bad sadness There is only real or fake. Let’s take that ink to paper Who the hell cares if it rhymes? But listen, You stop being the person who enjoys parties Or anything much You’ll …