Laying on the sidewalk,
I can feel my heart beating against the cement.
I can feel the ant crawling on my arms,
it would be useless to brush them off.
...
When I write I think of you.
I write love poems,
Dream poems,
Even I’d die without you poems.
...
When fire hydrants are their reddest,
when grass is the greenest,
and the first brightest banana yellow dandelion sprouts.
...
To smile no more,
to laugh no more,
to be happy no more,
to not be myself anymore,
...
I grab the purple chalk first,
gritty but smooth in palm.
It starts to disintegrate,
As I drag it along the rough surface.
...
Remains of a dead rose fly in the breeze.
My long brown hair whips my face as I write.
Heat so hot the ants can’t hardly stand it.
Sprinklers com on to quench the grass,
...
I am afraid to die.
More of what I might look like when I finally do.
I am afraid to not wake up in the morning,
I wear make-up in my sleep just in case.
...
Marry me under this moon light,
which is not real.
The only realness of tonight,
Is the realness of my happiness.
...