Rain fell in perfect sequence this July.Opening my mind to breathe init’s blissful scent, cradling me awayin thoughts of change.Change—for a better day, a better

Wind chimes taped againstthe beautiful brown chipped woodframe that housedtermite families whocraved the idea ofrevenge, revenge;revenge for the fallen, squashedsoldiers, brothers, and familyin life that

I’m not sore. I’m not sore. I’m sore. I’m not sore. I’m not sore.I’m not sore. I’M SORE. I’m sore. I’m not sore. I’m not

Brightest nights produce the darkest moons.Brisk airs tear through the 4 legged stare.Algid spaces where the best seeds bloomforbearing the release of all its despair.

Freshman year of collegeI was introduced Tinder;she left me too.Girls that would be my second choicehave boyfriends too. The girl I loved sophomore yearin high

There he sat, butt muscles to leather,seemingly custom made to his skin afterhours of full glasses of brown liquorbeing consumed to their clear base state.

And then some man; obviously taller than IHad the nerve to stop me,Hand me a flyer and say,You should be trading Forex, my brother.Piss off.

For the past year, my best friend hasbeen my cell phone.Not for social media. I hate social media, but social media plays a part in

Keep your pockets to your hands.Off of the smooth, coconut skinof that womanwho is defenseless, shields down,almost like the movie you watchedabout that man in

Will I live to plant my seeds inthis tainted soil we call Earth?Will I live to introduce them to the airthey may breathe? Will I

My thoughts call me too often,telling me:They think too much about the things tomorrow may bring.Thinking too much about our death and the songs people