Coffee Shop (Fade Away)

I'm just a girl sitting alone in a coffee shop.
Not saying a word, not drawing attention.
I sit with a cup of coffee and a pen: all I really need.
I don't make a sound but my words scream through my pen.
I beg not to disappear, I cry for purpose.
No one sees the girl in the corner, head down to the paper.
No one knows her life is standing still, she's fading away.
I'm not supposed to be here but cobwebs hold me captive.
I long to move, I dream of adventure.
But no one sees the girl alone in a coffee shop.
She's invisible, she has no voice.
I don't want to be her, I don't want to fade away.
In white noise and faint aromas no cries are heard.
I was just a girl sitting alone in a coffee shop.
I fade away.

No Ode to Ordinary

How hard it is to write a poem with no love and no heartache.
The two trademarks of art and I have neither.
Anything in between is average, dull.
No sonnets were written about the guy who never texted back.
No masterpieces were made with a heart full of just friends.
It is so hard to write with this mediocre disposition.
With no epic love and no woes, one can hardly expect me to write a poem.
Am I supposed to write an ode to my dog, the only male in my life?
Or perhaps to my coffee addiction, at least I can call it "Joe."
How difficult it is to be artistic when I am still living with my parents.
If you were expecting poetry, I am sorry.
I have no ode to ordinary.

Write Me a Song

Write me a song, darling.
Play the chords on my skin.
Arrange the melody on my lips.
Play me a song, one just for me.
Write the notes with your whispers.
Hum the tune with your touch.
Write me a song that will get stuck in my head.
Play a melody that will stay in my heart.
I don't care if you're tone deaf or dumb.
Sing me our song.
It sounds perfect to me, dear.
It feels like your love.
Your murmurs, your touch are my favorite tune.
Write me a song, darling.
And play it again.

Sometimes I Think About You

Sometimes I think about you.
I know I have not right or reason.
But I still do.
I think about us laughing.
I think about talking for hours.
I think of your warm jacket.
Sometimes I think about what could have been.
I know I shouldn't.
But I still do.
I think of things I never said.
I think about feelings you never had.
I think of kisses I never felt.
Sometimes I think about what could be.
I know it never will.
But I still do.
I think about calling.
I think about hoping for more.
I think about coming back there.
Sometimes I think about when I left.
I know I left for good reasons.
But I still do.
I think about saying goodbye.
I think about knowing you wouldn't call.
I thinking about not turning back.
Sometimes I think about you.
But it's only a dream.

Dearest Friend,

My dearest friend,
It is pleasant here; the leaves have begun to change. I spend my days with a book in my hands and a song in my head. The song is melancholy.
I do miss you, dearest friend. The breeze has gotten cooler. I take long walks and listen to the leaves break under my feet,
Please come see me, dearest friend. The days are getting shorter. I watch films in the evening to pass the time. The films are predictable.
It has been so long, dearest friend. We laid in the sun when last I saw you. We wore dresses and I picked flowers.
Do not forget me, dearest friend. My spirit may begin to change. I count the beats of my heart with a song in my head. The song in melancholy.

The Girl Sitting Under a Tree

There is a girl sitting under a tree.
The leaves are a canopy of yellow above her and brown around her.
The deep red of her sweater is all that
 distinguishes her from the trunk.
There is a small book in her hands with a worn cover.
All the noise around her has no affect on the tranquility
 of her position or her attention to her story.
The only movement is that of the escaped strand of hair
 on her cheek shivering in the fall breeze.
The girl under the tree sits, absorbed in the pages,
 finding escape, sollice.
Look closely, observe the small movement of her lips
 mouthing the words as she reads.
Passersby do not give her a second glance,
 the girl oblivious to the world, nor should they.
She is happy this way, invisible to the world from which she escapes.
She fiddles with her necklace and smiles to herself.
I live great adventures in these pages and all they see is a girl.
I am just a girl sitting under a tree.

A Letter I Wrote You

I found a letter I wrote you.
It was dated from years ago.
I wrote things I longed to tell you.
But you never heard a word.
I forgot I had felt that way.
We were just children then.
But in this letter I was sure.
How strange it seems now.
In this letter I loved you.
Now it seems crazy.
I found a letter I wrote you.
It was dated from years ago.
I wrote things I felt.
But feelings change.
You never heard a word
Of the letter I wrote you.

That Few

There are few things that never fail to make me happy.
You are that few.
Your sweet smiles;
Your silly jokes;
Those are a few.
The way you tell stories;
The way you ask questions;
Those are a few.
How you smile when you succeed;
How you try when you fall short;
Those are a few.
Your little faces make big smiles;
Your big hugs from little arms;
Those are a few.
Your big hearts;
Your big dreams;
You're beautiful;
You're smart;
You make my mornings brighter.
You are that few that never fail to make me happy.

For the 2nd Grade Class of W.W.E. '15-'16

April Morning

Good morning, my dear.
The sun is shining.
Good day, my love.
All is bright and warm.
Good morning, darling.
The Spring rain has passed.
Good day, sweetheart.
A warm breeze is blowing.
Good morning, dearest.
Colors of Spring wait to greet you.
Good day, my heart.
Let's enjoy the soft grass.
Good morning, sweet pea.
Only you make this day brighter.
Good day, my sweet.
Let's listen to the birds.
Good morning.
Good day.
Beautiful April morning.