your toys

I am not a toy.
If you bend my arms and legs
I do not stretch like Gumby
my bones will break.
If you throw me
I will not bounce back
I will fall.
If you hold me too close
I will not remain still
I will pull away.

If you treat me
the way you treat your things...
you will soon realize

that the only reason you have them

is because they won't run away.

what do I say now?

words
slip
like syrup
sticky sweet
but the watery substance
slips through
my fingers
with nothing left
but reminders
staining my hands...

What do I say now?

Autumn

Autumn leaves fill the trees
a flurry of brown, yellow and green
hanging on by an inch, swaying precarious...

The corn seasons in bloom with a sea of stalks
bright red sweaters tangled with hay
apple cider-stained lips, stolen puffs of breath
into the chilly air.

Pumpkin spice dreams and golden brown patterns
etched in the mind and blood red stitched quilts
covering young children, wrapped and swaddled tight.

Crunching leaves and frost ground underfoot
tramping a journey of a changing season
where the air feels alive
and so do you.

untitled

i am no stranger to darkness
although some believe i am in the light
life is more like shadow
and everyone falls
somewhere
in
the
middle

lost

she lost herself
in poetry
and words said
by faux prophets
and she made her own conclusions
piecing her life together
the way she felt it belonged
because the pieces
didn't fit right
and maybe
these people
would understand
like no one who was real
could.

Am I awake?

I am the habitual floating plastic bag
upwards, downwards in and out
across abandoned supermarket parking lots.

I am the steady second hand
counting down to the next minute
forever and ever.

I am the deadbeat dreamers lullaby
of golden age and quiet eyes
I blink awake.

Blink.

Am I awake?