Sandbox Poetry

I fell into the habit of not falling asleep by her side.

I fell into the habit of falling out of habits; of often losing count of my tragics; too often wanting when I can’t have it.

But I think I’m ready to surpass it. Because you know what? – –I feel fantastic.

I won’t stay in place, Or hide from fate, Even when it tastes Erratic. Because I’m made from space, You can see it on my face, And if that’s the case, I’ll embrace the day Completely enthusiastic. And with grace, I say, I am no longer afraid To be all frayed and clastic. I am not made of plastic.

I am organic energy, Confusion and chemistry, And I refuse to mask it.

-Sandbox Poetry

I bet I can see the world from my rooftop. I’ve been whispering poems to birds for as long as I can remember. Sometimes I wonder if I’ve ever seen the same bird twice.

I know everybody has their nervous ticks. Like how I pace And pace But I’ll never win the race. And I’m webbing out every option Of all the problems that I face. And I used to write up poems To get out of this anxious state. But it’s been so long since I’ve written a poem, That I nearly forgot how these words taste.

The irony is great, Like wrinkled anxiety is my fate. I can’t get passed the past, And my mind’s so fast That my feet just can’t match The pace.

I’ve lost track of the path And as a matter of fact, On top of all of that, I’m always late.

Like I’m driving But I have no idea where I’m going So I’ll take every wrong turn Until I get there.

Like lost dogs, Or broken clocks, Or the hole in my socks– I’ll keep walking Until I get there.

I stopped wearing shoes last summer, Walking through the woods with a girl I can hardly remember. But I remember the sticks beneath my feet. I remember climbing the tallest trees, And promising myself I would always climb higher. I wanna see the world.

I believe I’ve seen the world from my rooftop, I’ve been trading my poems to birds For the chirping I’ve heard for years. And asking them what it means to be free. Sometimes I wonder if I’ve ever seen the same bird twice.

We are more than goosebumps, more than the beat skipped in between held hands. And with broken pinkies and plans, I stand head hung high. Your breath, the tallest pine I’d climb. And I Still reach for the sky.

This is a poem about your heart. This is a poem about climbing mountains,  and getting lost at sea. This is a poem I wrote while you slept so sweet beside me. This is a poem that speaks for the passion that is packed in our actions that tweaks my obliques; your knees go weak, it slurs my speech as it hits the peak of the love that leaks insides me.  This is a poem of how our eyes meet, This is a poem about confusion.  This is a poem about choosing.  But this isn’t a poem about losing.  No, This is a poem about something, about something alive and still pumping, This is a poem about your heart. 

I fell into the habit of not falling asleep by her side.

I fell into the habit of falling out of habits; of often losing count of my tragics; too often wanting when I can’t have it.

But I think I’m ready to surpass it. Because you know what? – –I feel fantastic.

I won’t stay in place, Or hide from fate, Even when it tastes Erratic. Because I’m made from space, You can see it on my face, And if that’s the case, I’ll embrace the day Completely enthusiastic. And with grace, I say, I am no longer afraid To be all frayed and clastic. I am not made of plastic.

I am organic energy, Confusion and chemistry, And I refuse to mask it.

-Sandbox Poetry