Riley Choma Poems

There is a knife in my back.

Blood is running out as the rest drowns my soul, but it seems to be just out of reach and I can’t pull it back.
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She was glass that scratched like the screen of a smart phone.

Down the hallways she was kicked around as she waited for the day when she would be picked back up, but when ever she were it was never long before she was thrown back down.
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From an early age I remember wanting to be 16, and how good teens looked on TV.

I dreamt of frilly dresses and parties full of people; I dreamt of my self all grown up.
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With-in the mosaic in which I live I coexist with many.

I coexist with different religions, cultures, languages and dialects; I coexist with race, sexuality and gender.
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Search and seizure.

Search of the mind and seizure of the expression with-in.
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Soft like fleece was her skin, and oh how beautiful it were when rosey after the cold.


Her love is warm like the sun, and even though not meant for me I can't help but feel it.
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Day by day, crosses and graves stones lay..
Row by row we all gather..
When they go we get sad then grow sadder...
When they all fall we no longer stand tall...
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Peace and quiet, it was the fourth of April..
The phone rang and I sprang..
This news was unbearable..
Tears rolled down as I hit the floor, shattered, beaten and tattered..
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One want, One need, Strugeling to maintain...
Life darkens, brightens and fades, and so soon it shall drain, strugling to maintain..
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Don't tell me what i feel, you don't control me...

Don't tell me what i can and can't do, you don't own me..
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