The pine trees Reach up On both sides Of the road Telling me

Would I rather be A younger me? More productive Stronger Would i have to give up

How can I write how I feel When what I feel is nothing? How can I tell you what I need, What is wrong? When what is wrong

You might know her As blonde eyes Or as the sister who bakes cookies But you see I don’t write this

A family trait Massage Is our vice No shame Take what

Good secret Bubbles inside Let me out Bad secret Indigestion

Pragmatic me Doesn’t like this girl You can’t depend on her Too complex to understand She cries at the worst times

Why can’t I choose to be somewhere in the middle? Surrounded by extremes Measure everything With a grain of salt

Antisocial tendencies Amplified by sickness I can people watch Yet I can’t people talk I am lonely

When I think of my mom I think of malt o meal muffins When I think of my dad Memories of a child Chasing us around the circle

A palomino gallops Beside the highway Look out the window Rides over green hills Through yellow flowers