Kiara doesn’t actually know 

The girl just doesn’t know what lies ahead of tomorrow, Or what to have for breakfast.

Or what to have for breakfast.

She doesn’t know if she can hold her tears in longer,

Or her laugh in a serious situation.

She’s not sure if she remembers her own phone number better,

Or the bohemian rhapsody.

She doesn’t know if she should work hard, build a future,

Or forget everything and go backpacking and collect a bookmark from every country.

She wonders if the stars,

Look down upon the city and wish on city lights.

She wonders if the sickly old lady on the street got home safe,

And she wonders if she’ll ever grow that old.

She doesn’t know if she’s worse at public speaking,

Than she is at math.


She’s always been bad at both.

But besides that, the child just doesn’t know.


The Prince of Utopia

An arduous day has passed me by,

a day lost in hard labor,

Now I wait for him to take me away

to a place not known on paper.


This prince of mine,

of Utopian blood,

is divine in all his reign.

His body like us,

a mold of mud,

though carved to curb any pain.


I watch as he carries a mountain,

well above his throne.

My weary eyes trace his veins,

his back, inked  arms,

those muscles he grows of stone.

He is the master of all things mighty,

and I am a lowly soul,

Though it brings me great pride to say,

How humbly I make him whole.


My Utopian Prince knows little of love,

but smiles when I pass his way.

He swore to protect me with his colossal strength,

As long as his nights turn to day.