Magazine, website & books written by teens since 1989

On Disagreeable Temperaments and Peculiar Bird Calls

More by this author
The air is wet.
The walls, the pictures,
Are wet,
And drip softly onto the wood floor.

I cannot contain my rain cloud.

The birds sound like cell-phones.
Do not beep and flash in the product of my mood swings,
Flip open your wings
And fly to another birdbath.

I know the thunder,
I know where he lives.
I am not afraid to call him.

Post a Comment

Be the first to comment on this article!

bRealTime banner ad on the left side
Site Feedback