what is beauty? given the proper eyes:
deer strides across the painted lines, from leafy wilderness to concrete madness.
and how they run in pairs; a deer, a doe.
street cleaners washing away the dust, mindlessly flushing away little specs of us.
where does it go? do we really dissolve so fast?
and what a familiar smell that is, home at last.
lonely mess, loss of mind, a spring breeze through the window.
sunlight as your wake up.
mornings mean more, who do you think of first?
you’re always aware of what you don’t have.
it’s a fist fight, bruises taking the shape of puzzle pieces.
they help re-trace your steps.
i’d like to see the curl of your lashes in the morning.
can we have it all? youth gifts us with uncertainty.

—would u read this in a book? would it mean something to you? would it give your heart pangs, make you angry or strong? make you feel something, other than yourself?
just want to know if i fit in between pages, or just in the corners of my mind.