Poems

Last day of school everybody acts wrong. Teachers smile too much. Kids are louder. Nobody cares about chapter five. Half the room is already outside in their minds. Books get stacked. Desks get cleaned out. You find old papers you thought were gone and one pencil chewed almost to nothing. Then the bell rings and […]

Tonight I saw the moon twice. One moon way up where it belonged and one moon down in a puddle by the curb shaking each time the wind moved through. I stood there long enough for my feet to get cold. I knew the puddle moon was not the real one, yet it was real

The fireflies came out tonight. The fireflies came out. One by the fence and one by the tree and one going all about. I tried to catch them carefully without a squash or shake, and when one blinked inside my hand my whole hand looked awake. I showed my sister. Then I let it go.

Grandma kept a button box Up on the shelf beside the clock. She’d bring it down on rainy days And lift the lid in careful ways. Then all the buttons shined and stared, Mixed all up and never paired. Big white ones from winter coats, Tiny ones from baby throats No, not throats From baby

My mask hung on the bedroom chair With yellow teeth and stringy hair. By day it looked like painted trash. By night it made my sister dash. The rubber smell was hot and strange. My voice came out all dull and changed. I liked the way one piece could hide My plain old face and

The Phantom of Hollow Hill In the quiet town of Hollow Hill, where secrets linger in the air,a phantom roams the misty nights, a specter of despair.Long ago he lost his life, betrayed by those he held so dear,and now his spirit haunts the town, spreading whispers of his fear. The townsfolk speak in hushed

The Grey Heart Somebody cracked a clean little joke, and the room took the bait with obedient art,they shook out their laughter like coins from a pocket, each bright little chime playing its part.I watched their faces uncurl into mercy, then felt nothing answer inside of my chest,my mouth stayed shut like a boarded-up window,

The Guilt There’s a guilt that comes with some of the wanting,a guilt that wasn’t earned but still hauntingevery corner of the desire, the guiltthat somebody sewed into the quiltof my upbringing, the guiltthat was taught not grown, but built. The guilt doesn’t serve the desire or the truth,the guilt is just the residue of

The Body Dysmorphia Nobody Diagnosed I’ve been at war with mirrors since I learned to recognize my face,convinced the glass was lying, showing someone else misplacedinside the body I inhabit like a tenant in a cage,where every surface tells a story I’ve been trying to erase. At twelve I started counting flaws the way accountants

Running on Rust The joints are getting creaky and the engine’s running rough,the years of steady grinding have been doing enoughto take the edge off everything that used to have an edge–now the man runs on rust and momentum and a ledgethat keeps him just above the floor where stopped things go to stop,not climbing