April 15th

They always told me it was bad in there.
That is was dark and unknown.
That people, especially little boys, don’t dare enter.
But I did it anyways.

The whole world seemed to not want me.
And I ran until my stomach called for air.
Bending over, the forest lay ahead of me.
I knew I shouldn’t go in,
But I did it anyways.

I tear past green foliage,
And look around.
It doesn’t look scarey.
That’s when I step in something sticky.
My first instinct is to smell it.
It’s minty, incase you were wondering.
Against better judgements to taste it,
But I did it anyways. 

I suddenly see it in all colors ahead.
I’m digging into it,
And tasting the rainbow,
When a voice from behind me says,
“We come in pieces”
I turn to see a little man talking.
I shouldn’t have sticked around,
But I did it anyways.

I walked to shake his hand,
But one finger was all he shook.
He told me he wasn’t from around here,
But they had forests where he was from,
So he gave me a grand tour.
And even though Aliens don’t usually make great friends,
I did it anyways.

April 14th

Hands

It speaks louder than any word,
More touching then any lyrics,
More skillful then any athlete,
Or talented as any musician.

See its what you hold on to till the end.
It’s frail
Weak,
Losing blood slowly. 
But the pulse is there.
You feel her squeeze back.
Knowing there’s life still.

It’s the thing you first hold on to,
Counting to see if there’s 5 there.
No defaults.
It’s important that they’re perfect,
They’re so tiny now,
But some day they’ll be big.

It’s a nudge of a first date,
Sweat growing between you two,
But not letting go.

It’s being picked up after you get a boo-boo,
And they embrace you in a hug,
And rub your back.

It’s when your best friend is crying,
And needs help through the hallways.

Because everything will be okay,
If you just keep holding on.

April 13th

Cousins are friends before we make any,
They’re kind of stuck with us that way.

But they’re also always there for you.
At your football games,
Karate practice,
Piano recitals.

They’re there to talk about boys,
Parents,
Your crazy family,
And how you like your PB&J’S.

They take you out for icecream,
To the park,
And beach.

They’ll hit you with a bottle,
Pee the bed,
Constantly want to play,
And throw temper tantrums when you don’t.

But no matter how annoying they get,
You’re always stuck with them.

April 11

Nothing will ever look as beautifully,
As the sun meeting the sea.

A sunset who longs to be water,
With its dropping, it’s no longer hotter.

It watches Earth from above,
One day hoping to find true love.

Winter may dull his shine,
In summer though, he’ll always be mine.

In each tear that the clouds shall shed,
I’ll lay down my weary head.

The paper may be my work of art,
But the sky’s just the suns start.

If this sounds familiar,  it is a rewrite of Joyce Kilmer’s Trees poem. Hers though, is much better. 

April 10th

It releases your power,
and gives you new found power.
It takes you away,
while stuck at home.
It connects you to others,
and let’s you learn more about yourself.
It feeds your soul,
and starves the brain.
It’s beautiful in the reading,
and messy in the writing.
It’s yours to be generous and share,
or to be selfish and keep for only you.

April 9th

She’s the girl with the brain,
the whole world to gain.
He’s the boy who cracks a joke,
to hide his family’s really broke.
She hides under her hair,
avoiding a disapproving glare.
His hair hanging long,
makes him feel he belongs.
Her crystal blue eyes,
hide a real suprise.
Somewhere in his deep big browns,
is where he keeps the secrets, the sounds.

They sit two seats away,
and one day,
That’ll be no more.
A whole new door.
He’ll find out her truth,
soon forgotten in his youth.
All will soon pass,
as they fall into the high school mass.

But with a simple glance her way,
and the tone in which he’ll say,
“I disagree”,
They’ll both see,
Their history,
Will simply remain a mystery.

April 8th♡

You think loves gone forever.
But he’s just hiding behind a door.
He’s the boy you play peek-a-boo with,
But now it has a whole new meaning.
You let him see the sides of you,
That aren’t so pretty.
But he decides to stay again.
Maybe he wants more,
Maybe he is playing you,
Maybe he isn’t love,
But maybe he is.
The chance is enough,
To make you play another round.
You’ll see more of him,
Then any girl ever has.
And when the word finally slips your mouth,
You’ll realize,
You love him not for what you see,
                                             or know,
                                             or hear,
But you love, love, for being him.