Fireflys

xvii. i want to write about how this world of absolute truth, knowledge, and solid food— that which we hold high between two fingers is always full of watery applesauce and little white half-truths. and about how utterly strange it is that all the simple things that people write about on pages are, in reality, very few and far between. xvi. and i want to write about how there is peace and war and poverty and treasure and cruelty and sometimes, sometimes, small and important moments of grace. xv. i want to write a poem about why the hell i'm wasting my time writing poems when i could maybe actually be doing something produ

Long, long, ago, when wizards and dragons ate ice cream sundaes for breakfast, there was a little boy with freckles sprinkled across his nose like confetti. His eyes matched the colour of the sky on a sunny day and his hair blended in with stars at night. The little boy's name was Bravery because he had the most courage out of all the children in the world. His parents were very proud of him and told him that he would be able to get his own pet dragon very soon. Bravery was going to name it Mister Monster. One morning Bravery woke up and felt a little bit sick. His mom cooked him his favourite soup, Chocolate Fudge Noodle, but it didn't make

Bees pass me quickly, more interested in flowers than deep conversation and that's alright- because I haven't learned how to buzz correctly, and wouldn't want to offend anyone with my poor accent.