I stroll through the streets of Nyc,
like walking down an aisle of a shopping store
admiring the old and new buildings,
like different colored cans on a shelf.
As I ride down the road,
looking on at the restless sky,
I wonder when this dream will end.
I am already at home.
As I walked out on stage
I felt my body free from its cage.
The music surrounded me as I danced
And I knew this might be my only chance.
My toes pointed with every move
As I was determined to prove
That dance is a sport
Even though it’s not on a court.
Blue eyes, red hair
I could never compare
She is as sweet
As a chocolate treat
She is as happy
As the bird is flappy
She is as cute
As a Cabi boot
Although she can be mean,
She is so super keen
My mom the white morning dove
Is no ordinary horse.
His deep brown, almond eyes
Seem to stare into the very depths of my soul.
He knows what i am thinking
When I am happy, sad, lonely,
Who is better than any therapist
Who gives the best hugs.
Who seems to understand
Exactly what i am saying
Even when i know he does not
“He’s just a horse” they say
He is a friend.
The game, a vine that grows inside of you
Quickly grabbing pulling you into the fun
Because that little vine becomes something big
A big plant
The game soon becomes what you love
And then you want to be one of them
A giant star on the big stage
Every kids dream
Every single one
A dream as big as a home run
Dreams that go BOOM
But it just started from a little vine like you
What is Time?
Just a number?
Or is it something else?
We always want more or less of it
Is it a space filler like the grout between your tiles?
Or is it something else?
How is time measured?
By the beginning of the universe or how fast something moves?
In seconds or minutes?
Time is an idea wrapped in a thought
A thought to explain how things became what they are now
Spring’s warm breeze,
blowing away my hopes and dreams.
The nostalgic violin,
that drapes the world in violet.
Your heart racing for “the one”,
but realizing its unrequited love.
Like a flower that blooms,
only to be picked and will wither soon.
Like a newborn’s first cry of life,
but the next day his mother dies.
Like this poem,
I was happy to write it,
now I’m disheartened I wrote it.
up high in the tree you feel as you been free ,oh tree we play on you and clime on you , oh tree the key to you is in your leaves, you make me feel at home , you hold on me , I clime on you ,you are my tree that helps me breath ,you are my tree that makes me live ,I thank you my tree.
Gorzycki middle school
So you think you’re higher than me. You’re on a stool
You think you’re stronger than me? You’re a tool
Well screw you, pun intended.
You can eat all the crap I don’t give. I’m defended.
Cause the sticks of your words and the stones of your insults won’t break my bones.
My structure is unshaken and your cover is blown.
Don’t think you’ve got the upper hand.
Because when we get past your ego everything is bland.
This is a rant for all the people that looked me down with disgrace.
Stop living your world upside down and understand your place
Crockett high school