A Bird, a Flower, and a Friend

I see a wide array of colors. Watercolor blue against bright green, mixing in together creating something beautiful.

I hear baby birds calling out to their mothers and the people I care about most, my friends, whispering next to me.

I smell the pure grass blowing in the wind, almost as if they’re waving goodbye…

I taste the cool wind, ruffling my hair, carrying me away from all reality.

I touch the cold stem of a crisp daisy between my chilled fingertips.

I feel free. Like I can fly, or do anything.

I wonder what it would be like to fly like a bird in the sky, never touching the ground.

I wish I could be a flower, swaying in the wind, never worrying about anything.

I hope I will  never lose the people I care about more than anything.

I am a bird, a flower and a friend.


These Nine Rows

I see the white hot glare of sunshine through my eyelashes,

peering through the thick branches of the tree

looming over the neat dark green grass and me.


I hear the gleeful whistling

of the miniscule birds

soaring over the calming hum of the musky white golf cart.


I smell the springs scents

of the happily bright dandelions and mud,

plastered by our footprints

on the dull shining rows of the metal bleachers.


I taste the damp air

on this mild Spring morning

that reminds me of how it felt

when my lungs burned

with the salty tang of the ocean water.


I touch the cold, silver bleachers

chilling my legs through my black leggings,

giving me a surprisingly refreshing joyful feeling.


I feel my soft purple jacket,

restraining my arms from the cool breeze

that hits my pale face and enters my ears,

singing them a sharp, cunning lullaby that only makes me more awake.


I wonder if these nine rows of bleachers

will ever be demolished,

just another pile of dust on the flat slab of Earth.  



Just like a business with no customers, pointless.


I wish I could feel the soft grass beneath my legs

instead of the odd metal

of the cold bleachers taking the feeling out of me.


I hope the grass always stays this green

and the bleachers always stay this cold

because this Spring air is too good to last more than a day.


I know that someday the deep green grass will fade,

the smell of Spring will vanish

and these bleachers will get warm,

but the feeling will always stick.


Just Thinking

Just thinking.


I see trees. Nature. The living. And the dead.

I hear the sounds of life. But the most important is music.

I smell spring air. The freshness.

I taste nothing.

I touch the materials I have been given. A paper, and a pen.

I feel as though I am stuck.

I wonder about too many things. I am always thinking.

I wish for someone to fix the world.

I hope for nothing because I am grateful. 

I am not a poet. I am a girl.