I flick off the lightswitch in my room and observe the room go black.
It’s easier to see the highway from my window without the glare from the lights.
The headlights from the cars rush by,
with the occasional honking from a truck.
The highway is partly obstructed by trees.
The green leaves cutting up the spectacle of lights in the spring. The snow covered branches adding to the serenity in the winter.
Everytime I glance out at the highway
I get the same thought:
The people driving on the roads,
They have their own lives.
They all have a place to be.
I try to think about where they could be traveling.
Maybe on a road trip,
Or to pick up a loved one from the airport.
But the sharp sound of cars pierces the otherwise silent night, Suddenly making my heart beat faster.
It is a stark reminder of another truth.
Everyone is out there living their own lives,
And I am confined to my house.
Like a mouse in a trap,
Wriggling, trying to get out.
Staring as everyone around me moves on.
He looked around the forest,
Taking in the fresh summer air.
The trees peered down on him,
He walked without a care.
He adored the songs,
sung by shimmering leaves.
But what he witnessed next,
he could not believe.
A distant figure,
too large to be human.
He crept closer,
in great confusion.
A glimpse was caught,
of his worst nightmare.
What was upon him,
a great grizzly bear.
A menace of the wilderness,
was in his presence.
It’s tree trunk limbs and scuffed up paws
were oddly pleasant.
The observer backed up slowly,
making no noise.
Eager to get home,
and tell all the boys.
I took out a piece of paper
Carefully put it on the table.
Write my real name down carefully.
The time people call this is numerable.
I grabbed my old coat from cabinet
It was hanging neatly
had the accent from my hometown
I tried to take a walk
Try to detect the world that was unknown
Water drops are hanging on the grass.
My coat became wet.
I looked at myself in the shadow.
I was still struggling yet.
The roses hold tightly with each other
They do not know the scene outside their ground.
A dandelion was travelling alone from somewhere
I will hold her in my hand.
I put her nicely in my pocket
Give warmness to this loner
She must miss the soil that she grow up
We are both foreigner.
Someone has different appearance with me
Smiled at me and say hi
I am used to this culture and language
As I was putting my dog outside one day,
I realized how perfect my backyard looked in the moment.
The snowflakes that were falling from the clouds
Enough for one to notice, but subtle enough so you’re not distracted From the rest of the scene
My backyard
The same backyard that’s littered with wiffle balls in the spring
The one with lounge chairs and hammocks in the summer.
And the one hidden by a thin layer of snow
That my dog is destroying with every step.
But the flakes don’t seem to notice.
Because they continue to fall from the sky.
Nestle themselves in between blades of grass, and other snowflakes Erasing the paw prints
Like she wasn’t even there.
You know that feeling
When you find a perfect pair
That end up dispossessing
Functional pockets?
And even if it did have pockets,
They were so insubstantial
That you couldn’t fit
Half your hand into those channels.
As for the back handles,
Which can never hold a smartphone
Without it falling into purgatory.
They must get a kick from my misery.
I get it.
They have to be nonexistent
In order to be visually appealing
But guys have humongous pouches,
So why can’t we?