jessiethought

Early morning in March.

A statue reflects on her life.

She reluctantly forces herself to read poetry.

A protest of cliche.

An American takes a taxi through the capital of Uganda in a downpour.

Insanity, illusions, shouting at nothing, and a schizophrenic.

A small part of the poetry I wrote one afternoon to try to deal with my broken heart.

A very short poem inspired by haiku and tanka.

Since I had been writing so many depressed/depressing poems in the last month or two, a few weeks ago I decided to write something different.

A quick poem I wrote during a lull in English class.