poetry Uncategorized

setting fire to the thatch roof of the Globe Theatre

my skin catches lighting
as i accept my inclinations

i love unhappily
this unwilling juliet

the reward of poetry
is being able to find
broken hearted
an act of beauty
hanging tragedy from our shoulders
the way a paper doll wears a dress

my mind too socratic
to ignore the dichotomy
science classes
teach nothing but what causes
everything to die
the difference between a poet and a philosopher is their amount of sense

i am so tired of fearing diseases which cause it’s afflicted to have the same face

why do writers build altars to suicide in their heads?

must we romanticize everything
the answer is yes

my soul craves what living in england would do to my writing

it would be the same effect
springtime has on cherry trees

the reflection in the mirror has already packed her passport

my body has disregarded the nest

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