zebrasindenver

these days

reading poetry

is so much more hurtful

than writing it

I’ve grown accustomed to being like wind

mostly annoying

mostly ruining your day

sometimes

refreshing

bright lights

dark nights

poetic mournings

There hasn’t been a year that’s passed that I haven’t got what I wanted for Christmas..

Till I left you.

i don’t need much my dear

but I need more than me

my iphones clock hasn’t caught onto the fact

that I am at least a lifetime away from you

I will write powerful words

In weak places