National Poetry Month: Day #30

God bless the people
who stay up until
you make it home
who text you good morning
and good night
and every good between.

God bless the people
who call you
on a Sunday
and pray for you
on a Monday
and invite you
on a Thursday
to their gathering
on a Friday.

God bless the people
who greet you with a smile
at the counter
and the drive-thru window
and toll booth.

God bless the people
who make this life
a little more gentle
and ask nothing
in return.

National Poetry Month: Day #29

some days write themselves
other you write in blood

some people float
in your life
others you carry
on your back

some sorrows open you
for healing
others have you running
the other way

some laughs
turn you into a kid
others make you conscious
of yourself

life is strange
in its seasons

but beautiful
all the same

National Poetry Month: Day #28

the flowers that bloom
when you’re not waiting
and watching closely
are the ones
the overjoy you

and if it overwhelms you
to wait for your spirit
to bloom and bloom
then be with the flowers

National Poetry Month: Day #27

it starts out with a prayer
and a talk I find so refreshing
so I dance along to your beat
I feel the interest progressing

tell me what your heart beats for
I want to make you my blessing
count me of your northern stars
I’ll write you guiding expressions
teach me how to live like a bird
and I’ll carve a path up to heaven

but you show me badges instead
and turn the velvet to venom
you poison hope with two words
“I think” is your common expression
you worship in labs and not lands
and you’ve made being right your mission

darling, you were a sight
but I wanted a vision
and your honey tongue was sweet
but I was looking for a weapon

National Poetry Month: Day #26

these days it feels like
two thousand and eighteen
thoughts swallow my mind
before I’ve had breakfast

there’s noise everywhere I go
and I play my music louder
but they hack my headphones

I learn to speak up louder
but now I have to scream to be noticed
and you have to fight, too

so I search for a treetop
to get a better view
only to find they’re on rooftops
and they’re flying drones
hustling to a claim
of this thing called reality

and they say
shoot your shot
and I smile
for the encouragement
for not realizing
their guns
were pointing
at me

National Poetry Month: Day #25

the breaths we take
in our first days
and our last days
may compare
in length
and in softness
but between them
is an eternity
in consciousness

our bones
and our tears
weight more
with time
but our words
and our laughter

ever day we live
there’s more of us
and soon enough
we grow wrinkles
to fit all our skin
and the spirit
we’ve collected
along the way

National Poetry Month: Day #24

the anger of artists
is revolutionary
only when the battle within
has been won

so bring your heartache
and sketch it in charcoal
smudge it with your palms
until all you see
is a black hole expanding

then sketch it again
and repeat
until you can sketch it
in pen

if you can know your pain
the way you know
your breath
in silence
then you’re ready
for the revolution

National Poetry Month: Day #23

picture this moment:
it’s past midnight
and everyone’s asleep
I’m in the dining room
on the corner chair

the wall behind me
is an olive green
and I’m dressed
in starry-night blue
sweatpants the color
of Van Gogh swirls
and a navy sweatshirt
with a bleached ribcage
I painted when I was 16

my hair’s up in a bun
and my fingers twist
at the loose strands
and comb them behind my ear
–this is my thinking pose
as of late

I’m not inspired to write
so I took a picture

National Poetry Month: Day #22

I write myself
the longest letters
but they go unsent
and I watch them wilt
like flowers
in an unwatered pot

my stamps have dried out
and I’ve missed the mailman,
but tomorrow
I’ll write again

these unsent letters
are my firewood,
disturbing the peace
but keeping the flame

National Poetry Month: Day #21

in half-asleep states,
I speak in half sentences
I ask nonsensical questions
I draw random words
like a younger me
finding fragments of meaning
in an alphabet chicken soup

in half-dream states,
my world is a recess song
and the notes lift me higher
so I slide on the language
and find myself spinning
wide-eyes and half-asleep

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