my quite history
is you and me,
next to a river
overflowing with
chocolate chip cookies.
I have more poems,
but my phone
is charging
or dying
just like you
and I.
certain songs
are curtains
for how I speak
in dreams
in jeans.
I hate overtalking
in settings
where I know
I am an idiot idol,
but now I see we
are all broken by bits.
a wisher in my prime,
it is hard to wrap
my head around
every little thing,
claiming too close,
and stuck in an uplifting life fire.