People like flowers
Because they are for all occasions
Happy sad, in between.
People are like flowers because they are for all occasions
Happy sad and in between.
Flowers are like people
Because they have colors and moods and seasons
They all bloom and different times
And aren't bright forever.
Flowers have their peaks and people narvel
People have pinnacles of brilliance
And all bystanders do
Is wonder with judgement
Why it didn't last longer
All the while caressing a rose
White and innocent
Its end product the result of years
Why can't we be more like a flower?
O but we are.
We have thorns
And roots
Foul odors
Fruits
Years when we shine
Days when our petals fall
A person whos not like a flower
Is no person at all.

What i saw today

My eyes are a journal
A dictation of my perception
And im sad that its being wasted on a piece of abc gum on the sidewalk
But i saw a bird
And she had a red beak
And a pleasant song
Im not disappointed
Never when wildlife graces my collection.
I saw,  today a conversation.
Normally you her them
But im not an eavesdropper( normally)
But I saw the people talking
And in my imagination
It wasn't boring
I need something else in my collection
Of red beaked birds
And pre used gum.
I saw a weed once
And called her a flower
Because no one else probably ever did
And all vegetation deserves a dress
If only in my perception.

They want you to write happy
Funny
Like Facebook memes
Jelly beans worth of humor
Fit into their tiny attention span
So they can like you
And themselves
And poetry.
So you think of the last funny thing you heard
And try to make it into a poem.
Or write about cats.
So your poem can be the equivalent of a funny cat video.
Then everyone will like you.
And the important uncomfortable stuff will be filed into your memory
Like a stuffed animal
Oragamied into an easter eggs
Its plush oozing out of the plastic
Like your passion oozing out of your head.
Meanwhile you have a crappy cat poem
And you would rather clean a litter box
Than read it out loud
But that's what the people want.
Midway you ball up your catastrophe
And write the real thing
Comfortable with the uncomfortable theme.
Crying and holding your breath
Don't feel the same
You are tired of playing the cat poem game
Words breathe out
Like a hissing balloon
Cats out of the bag
Couldn't happen too soon
You sacrificed novelty
For freeze dried truth.
Perhaps you succeeded
Or perhaps this is bad
But the time was had
For the moment Im glad.