Sunflower eyes

A girl walks by, hangs her head low and shuffles through a crowd.
But I see her bright eyes through stringy blonde on blonde hair.

Funny the things we can see when we look.
Shes got those sunflower eyes, they penetrate.

She dreams of flying to another world, where love is the drink in her cup,
and happiness her buttered bread.

And it comes to a halt.
Almost as quickly as it starts.
"Day dreams are just wishes our hearts make"
she mumbles to herself.

Six.

Prompt: To smell different viles of unknown substances and create a piece from any memory the smell evoked.

Vile Six.

When summer vacation felt like an eternity,
and small things could change the world.
Being with you and mom by the pool,
or the kitchen that rippled with the reflection of the water.
Eating our homemade Popsicles inside so they wouldn't melt too quickly
down our young arms.

Milk, vanilla essence and sugar.
We would freeze them and anxiously wait
for liquid to become solid.
The hint of you so vague,
yet your absence would be noticed.

Memories

Prompt: To smell different viles of unknown substances and create a piece from any memory the smell evoked.

Vile Two.

It's the smell of dad, security, and being carefree and young. You in your black and white pinstriped suit on our way to church. Clean and freshly shaved.

Those were my favorite days of the week, Sundays. It was familiar and comfortable to me, church felt like family. When you held me close I was making memories, and storing them in the treasure chest of my heart.

In the long care rides too and from, my seat was always behind yours. I would fall asleep to your fresh smell and awake to your warm arms holding me.

Flight Risk

She held life in her
hands
as if it were a delicate eggshell.

Ready to break with a
gust of wind.
It was wearing blue like the sky
when really, she wanted to fly.

The life she nurtured weighted her down,
chained her with
mouths to be fed,
hands to hold.

Its vulnerability gave it power
Its sweet sounds have it a voice
But really, she wanted to fly.

Holding her own life in her hands
the night she decided to jump
from her nest.
She fell pinned to the ground,
cradling blue in
her hands.

Love is a Game

This is a piece I found that I wrote back in November:

Crying for help is like a silent plea.

Resonating deeply within her, day in and day out.

Cold and heavy; weighing her down.

Emptiness fills her up

Like a fire

He feeds the flame with selfish games.

Pulling UP and under

Each day becomes a fight from him.


Pain is bittersweet

with a rough tenderness.

She loves his

pretend love.

But dies at the sight

Of mere board game pieces.

None of it is real,

But herself and how she feels.

Error(poem before)

The words in in "Beauty" that are vertical were supposed to be tapered but everything i went to publish the post the website changed it!

Beauty has no name

make way for Beauty
she turns heads
and
trips over smiles
stumbles over words
and
keeps close to awkward timing

what is it that i see,
and you
our easily manipulated
b
l
a
c
k
& white
clay world
doesnt?

i've heard that Beauty
is in the eye of the beholder.

but should not everything have
Beauty in it?

dancing and singing
laughing and playing
her record plays the same
s
o
n
g
s

now,
dont get me wrong,
i see what you see

but through different eyes.

eyes that to me,
turn wilting roses
into
e
v
e
r
l
a
s
t
i
n
g
dried memories,
turn black and white
into depth& perception

and rain,
into a replenished sky

Beauty has no definition
no look
no sound
no smell

Beauty is the
k
i
l
t
e
r
e
d
masterpiece

in all.