Letters spilled over the floor. Dozens of them, written on the same yellowed paper as the one I held in my hand. I scooped them back into the box and took it with me when I left.
Few people know me, but I know many people. That's a skill that comes from living in the shadows and gaining knowledge through observation. It sounds bad, I know, but I didn't have a lot of options.
You know me, I know you do. We grew up together, you and I. Neighbors on a street full of kids with big hearts, sad stories, and impossible dreams. Do you remember the other kids? They left, one by one, until only you and I remained. I always knew they'd find their own stories.
About a tree and a lamppost.*
*Personification was used in the making of this poem.
The mind is a dangerous place.
A prompt for the summer season.
Poem about a runaway that plays off the Red Riding Hood story.
A snapshot of a life.
A vignette of a sixteen-year-old who babysits his younger siblings over the holidays.
The third part in my series of short shorts about loving but not needing coffee.