cicada, emerge
in white moonlight to bask in
your glimpse of the sun
About the Creator
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me, me, me
when i read back my poetry it screams “me, me, me” on my screen in bold letters and i can’t shut it up — most days, i cannot make any other words out; i want to throttle a thousand versions of the me gone by, i want to throw myself from a figurative balcony, i want to sink a sword into every pen i’ve held
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This Is What I Do When People Throw Rocks At Me
Rocks have been thrown at me for a greater part of my life. Some have been small and missed hitting me. When people don't get a reaction from me, they throw bigger rocks with a better aim. Many have been hurled at me with precision over the years. For a long time, I thought my only options were to dodge them or be crushed by them.
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