Ghostly Fantasy

Ghostly Fantasy

Ghostly Fantasy



oh, to be a ghost


It’s really not bad



It’s like watching television


you can see but can’t touch



yes, I can still do the


charleston with my lady flappers



all aboard the train to





can still pop a dime 


and jig to the record machine



fly the first plane


fly, fly away



pick the flowers


become one with the earth



sag my pants and


ride my skateboard



I can collect air jordans and waistcoats


and records and itunes



If only in my imagination


If only in empty dreams



throughout the centuries,


I chill all alone



because all my friends


became ghosts too. 



Ugly in a Beautiful World (Poem)

Ugly in a Beautiful World (Poem)

Ugly in a Beautiful World



Mouse in a box

Can’t breath

the air is getting



so many of them

laughing in taunts 

Grey faces

endless tunnels

beneath the damp earth

Somebody hear me scream!

won’t anybody see me?

won’t anybody help me?

the box is getting smaller

my throat is asphyxiating 

my veins are popping

my belief is drowning

and i

have no price

worth their notice.

Prejudice for People (Poem)

Prejudice for People (Poem)

Prejudice for



See them in the street

Littering with their feet



Avoid gaze if possible

Humanity is tossable



Strangers stare undaunted

An audience of the unwanted



I know I should be kinder

My imagination gets no blinder



I wish to live as a hard-shelled crab

But still I feel their bodiless jab



Away from consciousness 

l wish, I wish, I wish



Now even the skies

Have ever-watching eyes


A City Girl Runaway

A City Girl Runaway

Hey mina! How are you guys? I went to my Grandma’s house in the country for the 4th of July, and it was so refreshing to get away from the city. This poem is based off the adventures I had in that short amount of time and the unwillingness to come back home haha.



A City Girl Runaway


to be sandwiched in between country fields 


where no souls live to throw spite


a simple walk to get ice cream is a fond memory


and talking comes easily into the open sky



a place is meaningless without memories or stories


here are the stories, these charred black country houses


these dirt roads and rusting kiddy parks


the people here never run dry of tales to chat about



I wish my heart into a paper lantern 


to stay another night and laugh with no worries


for the city weighs me down with reality and work


friends seem to glow and blow away..



but even here in the country, all this isn’t real


as easy to escape as a handful of grass


the memories I know are aging and shrinking


so if I am to leave what I know behind



who knows what I will come back to?