Wednesday, August 31, 2016


Children grow up quick
and strong.
How do you grow a flower if you don't know it's type?
My mom once told me I was a ______.
The kind that grows easy and big,
anywhere, in any soil.
I'd be okay if I was over or underwatered, even a few times.

Riley Welch

Monday, August 29, 2016

W pt 2

My emotions hit like tears on paper.
It doesn't take much to start up.
A spill.
Happiness or sadness.
Or anger.
I think of how much I love.
And I cry.
i think of all these fights.
And I cry.
I think of loss and departure.
Tears, tears, tears.
Repetition is comfortable.
So I try to stay there,
to keep the tears tucked deep down.

Riley Welch

Saturday, August 27, 2016


I got a bagel the other morning,
it lacked a center,
where you could usually just look right through it.
It's not as thought it was baked like this,
but rather,
a hole was there, and, in baking it, sealed itself shut.
It felt comforting to know sometimes things grew together,
even when placed on opposites sides of a circle.

Riley Welch

Wednesday, August 24, 2016


Waiting feels worse than living.
Waiting to go back home.
Waiting to come back.
Waiting to graduate.
Waiting to pay off my credit card bill.
Waiting for the weekend.
I've been warned against this before.
Wishing pieces of life away.
I know I shouldn't.
I don't want anything to feel wasted.
But my where just seems,

Riley Welch

Monday, August 22, 2016


Squirrels are too smug.
I don't like them.
I think they think they're better than me.
And that makes me mad.
So I don't bury food,
off in the forest.
I've got grocery stores,
I don't need to bury any nuts...
But I bet if I had to,
I could, and then come winter,
I could find them.
Oh I bet I could find them....

Riley Welch

Friday, August 19, 2016

Road Home

Every time I cry
I get a headache.
It's as though the loss of a few tears
dehydrates my body completely.

Riley Welch

Wednesday, August 17, 2016


Sometimes I feel like I haven't written a good poem in months, but this week I finished my 10th notebook since 2014, and I think progress is as important as success. So here's another poem:

I walked out cold to my core.
Goosebumps and shivers.
Before I eat I'm always cold.
The sun wasn't as warm as I wanted and  cranked the car to 90 degrees.
My car has a temperature range of 30 degrees.
And some summer days I set it down to 60.
But today I am unquenchably cold.
I was in a daze,
a haze.
The kind I only cured by inexpensive breakfast eggs.

Riley Welch

Monday, August 15, 2016

Poem 1

Hello sweet lines.
Will you keep me stable?
I can only hope.

Riley Welch

Saturday, August 13, 2016


A tarp hung over the unfinished construction work
and the wind from the storm rippled it slightly
a hole was torn down the center,
which probably defeated the purpose of having a tarp at all.
The sky was grey and stormy
like I wished it to be
but now I felt I should have taken it back.
It felt hard to be sad when the sun was out,
though as the rain drizzled and my headphones hummed
my eyes welled up in an uncontrollable way.

Riley Welch

Wednesday, August 10, 2016


I got a shiver down my spine,
to my toes.
I felt like I was going to end.
To explode.
To spontaneously combust.
The wind blew, and I felt your hand on my shoulder
and knew you were there with me.

Riley Welch

Monday, August 8, 2016


I'm trying to name poems as I write them.
So I won't be forced to come back
and do it afterwards.
In the moment,
feels more easy and freeing.
I don't mean to doubt my voice.
But sometimes it happens.
I must unteach myself all these things.

Riley Welch

Saturday, August 6, 2016


It felt like bubbling soda trapped in my gut.
Over and on itself.
Like gently kneaded dough.
Not too chewy or tough,
but just, just right.

Riley Welch

Wednesday, August 3, 2016

Above or Below

Morning, unsmiling and soft. 
Like an old flannel blanket, pulled into air. 
Undecided on temperature. 
The heat could skyrocket, 
in which case, 
all that mist would slowly clear
and the day would become hot. 
Or, the clouds would roll in
and the temperature would drop 
and eventually, rain would fall. 
And then the day would stay cold and wet.

Riley Welch

Monday, August 1, 2016


on the edge of good.
On the edge of sanity,
As usual.
My words don't dance and neither do I.
Rage puddles under me.
Why is there such inequality
in power.
After all this time.

Riley Welch