At this point in my life, I only write when I feeling depressed. So here’s a poem.

the sky is the same as the sea and sand—
as if it could all fit in the palm of your hand.

It’s the same as my brain and even your heart,
Like a spider crawling up your arm in the middle of the dark.

White kitchens and blue houses to set the stage just right,
For all the plates to fall down in the middle of the night.

Tears down my cheeks because he broke another promise,
When will I learn to never trust men except my father