en-miettes

it comes like rain sometimes hard and unexpected, falling in torrents around you as you run to your car from school or from work or from your house off to your next great adventure other times it falls softly and you know it's there but you're still able to keep strong and carry on and you knew it was coming so you knew to bring your umbrella and you don't get that wet as you travel it's like waves and it comes in and out washing up old shoes and stray fish, forgotten toys and lost jewelry sometimes it rises up and laps heavily at your pier and you have to run quickly for fear that it will over take you sometimes it sits the

When they first meet, she tells him she is a vampire. But he never really knows because the next day she's a fae and last week and yesterday she was just a normal human girl. Bu today she's wearing her Chuck Taylors and a short formal dress and little martian doodleboppers on her head. "I think you're a little lost," he says as he sits next to her, unsure of whether he's talking to the alien antennae or the girl wearing them. "I think I am," she says, and he's unsure if it's the doodleboppers or the girl who says it. # Looking back on that day, he realizes there are so many more things he should have said. If he could have done it all aga

Whoa, little girl You ever stop to see Where you're going And listen to your gut? You really know how To make Such a wicked impression.

Says the old man on the street corner to me one day: "Baby, the stars shine bright," he says. "Excuse me?" "Don't you get it, baby? The stars don't worry about whether they are doing it wrong or right or inside out or upside down. They don't. Stars don't follow the trends or buy up all the expensive clothes in the world just for the sake of being chic and cool. Stars don't care about what other people say or what they may think. A star is just concerned with being a star. A star is meant to shine, so she does. A star is meant to stay up there, in that sky, and twinkle for all she's worth in the world. You never

I feel I am not Very good at poetry I have no rhythm

Blank pages are so goddamn intimidating The empty blankness is so much louder than any words might ever touch those pages It screams so loud it wipes your mind blank and erases all of who you are It strips you and leaves you clean and vulnerable to the fact that there are no words to heal some wounds And no matter how many times you retype that monosyllabic word filler you will never be enough to fill its weighty shoes And it knows this and laughs at you in all your futile attempts to make it black