I hate the way you make my heart skip a beat each time you smile.
I hate that blue twinkle in your eye when you're about to speak.
I hate how my skin tingles when you gently stroke my hand.
I hate the way you rush to greet me because you say you missed me so.
I hate that music in your voice each time you're saying something sweet.
I hate the slight curl in your lips when you're about to say you love me.
I hate the way you call me sweetheart as the moon's about to rise.
I hate how natural it is for your arms to wrap around my shoulders.
I hate how calmness falls upon us when words are nowhere to be found.
But most of all, I hate the way you make it hard for me not to love you back.
AP: 2nd place 2026
Time is a master piece
That requires patience
Time is the allocation given to
Everyone that is born and living
Time is like a pie consisting
Of all manner of ingredients
That includes all in a humans life
Sadness and joy, peace and war,
births and deaths
Riches and poverty
Every one must partake of this
pie of time.
Time is a master piece we must
Partake of it wisely
Before the time allocated to us is
spent.
sometimes, I see
a note of grace
shimmering
in the curve
of a raindrop
If illusion is something you have in your head and reality what you have around yourself
Did you ask yourself what did you see in your reality to have that illusion in your head?
Was it through the bed time stories you heard in your young age
Or was it wattpad fantasies in your teenage where you still engage
Did those images in your head create the illusion or something in your reality too
Would sitting in rain blur the line between reality and illusion so you could see through
Is illusion for you really money fame and luxury
Or is it in the collection of things loosing which make you worry
I am amazed if illusion was something shown to you by others
Would you be scared by the mud on your hand in your childhood as your biggest illusion
I wish the perfection we seek today wasn't present everywhere
So that the stupid illusions we have in our head would consume us to have it as reality somewhere
Sometimes thin, like a cloud,
Scattered and foggy, it drifts,
Softly down or too high,
Silent mist turns to art,
Shadows grow dark and heavy,
Sunlight makes it bright and moving,
Steady shield, just a cloud like me.
sometimes coffee in an Antigua cup
or red,
not often, tea,
loose or bagged.
does the string stop the drowning.
occasionally, dandelion,
bitter, mildly unpleasant;
such as a visit
to the deck, tidied,
vacuumed, except for a corner
kept with leaves
waiting for a spouse
to hurry up and finish up.
a three-way
confusion, static;
like a bus-hop,
it’s no party, not even
an old-fashion
party line.
not likely to listen
to reason, cutting
remarks, saturated
in control.
chocolate cream, distilled sips
in a cordial glass,
stem pinched by thumb
and pointing out tact.
sometimes wine, red
in a heaping purple goblet,
only a quarter full;
I’m no fool.
falling into the coolness
of rain, insane
how things change, shift,
stay strangely the same,
and out of order.
hey, while I listened,
a lingering trash bag
disappeared.
this is why
complaining is
for nought.
perhaps tomorrow
will wake up sunny,
and exhausted,
rumpled and relaxed.
a three way cheer
of tact,
bittersweet parched.
I sometimes wonder if Shakespeare cried
when he wrote a scene where the main character died.
Or was he so consumed by his art
that he could keep fiction and reality apart,
and write those torturous scenes perfectly dry-eyed?
Companion poem
I sometimes wonder who was there
the day Shakespeare finished writing King Lear.
Was he at home with his Annie?
Or was he drunk off his fanny
in the Tabard Inn, stroking the dark lady's hair?
Sometimes a great notion
is to jump into the ocean.
It can be a good idea,
but it's not a panacea.
The concept doesn't suck,
if you're a pelican or duck.
Sometimes, My Mum is Boring...
She's always cleaning the house.
It feels that way anyway,
She's trying to catch that silly mouse.
Sometimes, She's busy when I want to play,
It makes me a little sad...
I wish she was ready when I was ready,
It doesn't feel that way Sometimes.
But my Mummy... She makes the best food! And she always reads at night.
She teaches me things, lots of things,
And protect me from spooky sights.
She gives the best hugs,
And can have the most serious stare.
She's sooo beautiful,
But in the morning you should see her hair!
My Mummy, yeah She's boring...
But She's really, honestly great.
She loves me and that's enough,
Though sometimes it's hard to wait.
The End.
I hide behind dreams,
both beautiful and wounding ...
Please dim the light
and still your beating heart.
Love will come
another time.
the sky drops the mountains
hopes for lemonade bruise on grass
birds crying not heard at this depth, high
as trees stick together; green contrast
morning sun dark and small
out of these woods, could I stand as tall
and how uncoiling is any street beneath
above shadows looking at me
the mountains running whitewashed under tires
her ghost apart from sky, dead weight
heaps of rocks hold up my hours
then falling, come to devour
Sometimes,
You Win
Because
YOU'RE NOT
The Underdog...
Expected, Because
You Are Superior,
Not As A Show,
No "Showboat,"
Nothing...
And That’s Good.
Expected.
Maybe...
Suspense Is Suspected,
It Makes The Best Show.
Which Is GOOD.
-Gray Squirrel
06-16-2026
Sometimes I think about the times lost in the streets of French Quarter madness,
constantly looking for you lost in the streets of your mind's own madness.
Where I searched for validation in every one sided battle in a war never won.
Sometimes the climb was so steep, like marching up a mountain.
Some die before ever reaching the top.
Sometimes I feel like the weaknesses I showed you over time became a weapon
for you to annihilate every attempt to show you the love that burned within my core.
Sometimes I cried tears of acid that burned with the toxic fumes that obliviated
the relationship that held me captive for so long.
Sometimes I prayed for this cinema of emotions on a loop,
playing the same scene over and over again, to stop,
and Im reminded that my story must go on.
Sometimes I wonder, will I ever believe in the person I was
before joining with you in hell?
Sometimes I hope you find the person I lost,
myself trying to find sometimes.
Lacking clarity
thought production, traffic jam
complicates progress.
The Walls
Our bodies, our minds, our actions
Our desires and needs hit walls every day.
We may choose to accept the wall,
Let it slow us down, then go on with our day.
Some walls are of our own making (inner),
Some walls are imposed by others (outer).
Sometimes we fight against unjust walls,
Sometimes we let them bring us down.
Sometimes there are many mental walls
We need to navigate around.
The walls are there to restrict us
To protect us
To keep us from expanding, exploring
To keep us enslaved
To separate us from others.
May the walls in your life not stop you from being you.
Sub Categories
Definition | What is Sometimes in Poetry?
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