Dripping Eyes

I’m emotional. 

I cry a lot.

But these teary eyes 

brown pools of mud,

drip only for a while

before they flood

into a heart broken pile.


Books, trees, paper.

Green, dew, sprinkles.

Crisp weather blue in whole.

I love nature.


Tissues dry my tears 

and suddenly my sadness



I grab my journal.

I grab my pen.

And write.


With wood in my fingers

paper bound together

I scratch deep into the lines.

And when my anger starts to linger

I rip apart 

the soft pages. 

A masterpiece of art.

White snow littered across the floor.


Tree branches scratch back at me

their leaves brushing

gently on my window.

Green is all I see

peeking past blinds.


I watch them talk 

whisper to one another.

Sometimes I join them.


Words make me smile

gliding pencils across pure 

sheets and meanwhile

I forget why I was mad.

The trees comfort me,

and listen to my letters

scratch into them.


I cry for you nature. 

My dripping eyes feed you

and you feed me.



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