Riley welch is a poet from texas living in Denver. She posts three original poems a week. 

9:00 AM

I wanted to spill out words-
like have them flow from my hands without thought. 
Like having so many thoughts you don't have to think
Is this confusing yet?
I'm not sure I make sense sometimes,
I get lost discerning myself. 
I wanted to make a stronger impact,
to mold soft dirt into plants and make life again. 
Reorganize nutrition so it's evenly distributed. 
I thought I would fail nutrition in college 
but I made a B+. 
What a shocking final grade report. 
Happy, not sad.
Bark on a tree curled off like paper and I thought about subbing it as writing material,
but my ballpoint wouldn't roll on it smooth enough. 
Birds make their nests higher than we can reach on purpose
or at least, I've always assumed it was on purpose. 
But I don't know much about birds. 
So I could be wrong. 
We overwatered the dirt and it turned to mud which overturned the roots
because they had nothing solid to hold onto anymore. 
We ruined their home, and I thought, for this, I should feel guilty. 
I didn't mold the dirt the way I wanted. 
But sometimes things don't happen as you want and you just have to move on. 
Dwelling on things causes unnecessary stress,
which means getting things done becomes harder and harder
and no one really wants things to be harder than they have to be. 
Curling lattices made a safe spot for twisting vines to climb up,
but you still just watered the roots,
unless it was a really hot day. 
I made a list of what I wanted in life
and amongst many emotional bullets
was a greenhouse and the ability to cook eggs every morning. 
I suppose the eggs part is a matter of me waking up earlier 
and buying eggs,
but I don't know when I'll get around to actually doing that. 
The greenhouse seems harder
but also more rewarding
or satisfying
or maybe both. 
Maybe reward is satisfying 
and maybe satisfaction is a reward in itself.  


Riley Welch