maelynslavik

fall isn't what you think it is.

fall isn't

pumpkin spice lattes and

smoky bonfires and

cinnamon candles and

your new maroon woolly cardigan that was on sale for

Thanksgiving or Halloween or whatever

I was anxious in theater class. I was talking at Wren, my theater friend of a couple months, blabbing tirelessly on about some kids' book I liked.

I have always loved art.

All different kinds, painting, drawing, and literally anything ...

I have even been told I'm like a graffiti artist, because I draw over EVERYTHING

Leaves fallen, trod upon, 

whisper of discarded dreams 

as they crack 

under your weight. 

It’s your world 

What a weird little world,
you sit there and ponder,
with its silly little merits,
leaping out
as you wander.
Squirrels of gray and brown,
birds of bright red,
flurries of color
wait just overhead.