Conversations at 2 AM
Who? Who I am? I am a young twelve years old. I have no accomplishments to my name (yet). I
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Flower Garden
The colonizers write poetry about flowers. I want to, too. Instead I begin to write about rebellion, about children throwing
Stained
He’ll scream and try to wash it off his fingers But he’ll never escape what he’s made of.
No Sleep for the Innocent
No sleep for the innocent Not for you Or have you forgotten? You have blood on your hands. On your
Missing in the Night Sky
Destiny was never real for me No, I grabbed my own fate with two hungry hands Pulling and pushing and
À la Folie
Our laughter Is like a metaphor I’ve been trying to write down for years. A wind chime A twinkle in
Stars In My Eyes
Do you want to hear About the stories behind my eyes? The freedom melting on my tongue This freedom tastes
Old by You
Coming along through the years You tucking away my tears I’ve got a strange obsession I want to stay right
When the Day is Done
Sitting around the table, reminiscing About the same old stories that we have all the time I used to cry
Stories Behind the Lost
Tell me how you care Tell me how you loved before Tell me how you smiled Tell me how your