poetry

Mr. August Williams Wallman

By Amy Thomson

Did you know that’s my name?
Eternal burning flame
motivating,
sometimes draining,
mostly adorable,
though potty jokes horrible,
I’m so glad you yike me,
let’s play family.

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poetry

Miss Iris

By Amy Thomson

Hello Miss Iris,
so pretty and stylish.
Forever inspired
by your golden fire.
Sunshine rays
cut through haze.
I forget my sadness,
fill my cup with
G L A D N E S S.

poetry

Burnout

By Amy Thomson

Naive gasoline
soaks childhood dreams,
yearning mother’s beams
as I’m tearing at the seams.
A bright burst of light
quickly settles in the night
as I start feel the fright
that my life will not take flight.
Now, I never feel alright,
and her smile starts to wean,
cover pain,
try in vain,
just to gain
a mother’s love.
Disappointed,
dreams disjointed,
once anointed,
now dethroned.
Pick up the phone,
hesitate,
heart debates,
can’t relate,
clear my plate.
Now she knows
I’m nothing great.
Drop my classes,
join the masses.
Burnt out star
reduced to char,
missed the bar,
now sub par.
Always was
just because
I was her dolly,
act of folly.
Sold acceptance
for identity,
lost serenity,
emotional amenity.
I crave that blanket,
despite suffocation,
incessant persuasion,
Amy erasure,
at least I could face her
eyes with pride,
should have tried,
pushed aside,
failed to abide.
Far from calm,
rejected psalm,
I dropped a bomb,
I’m sorry, mom.