1. Grey which shines

like the light

of a thousand stars.

The stress of schoolwork

spreads through my veins

like a rollercoaster,

the classroom a carnival.

A ceramic dog resting

atop the microwave.

Say hello.

His name is Gerald.

He watches over us.

A minor god the only thing

getting us through our majors.

2. 256 unmade rocket ships.

A castle made of bare bears.

A tower only reached

by the dwindling of time.

3. Bones held together

in a garland, our guards,

warding off the evil spirits,

our fortress safe

from goblins and ghouls.

4. Memories marinated,

pretty polaroids posted peculiarly.

Traded the white squares

for red packets.

Ketchup displayed,

hoping for plates of fries;

enough to feed an army.

5. You bite them,

and they'll bite back.

Tropical tastiness tattooed

just under 800 times.

On pillows and placards,

lamps and lights,

dressers and drawstrings.

6. A secular resistance,

screaming with pride

and holiday cheer,

specific holiday undecided.

The forest in which the bunny

came and laid his eggs upon;

plastic snowballs among them.

The star a sign from God:

a backwards babe dangling,

marron and gold streaming down,

hands holding us up,

willing us to awake another day,

to add another holiday to the tree,

to get to June, the pot of gold

at the end of the rainbow.

7. Twinking in another time.

Multicolored lights

souring every which way.

As bright as us,

sometimes more.

8. Peppa Pig and her porky pals.

Resting on the windowsill

outside their houses and

play structures.

Perfectly posed as we

ponder profusely.

9. Spheres of fine fur,

floating and sinking

like waves to the tide.

Alive yet not quite sentient.

Bubbles popping

as they reach the surface.

Richard: the plant hastily named.

Third, the one which longs

for elsewhere, its potential

breaking as it reaches the ground.

10. Seven seats. A pair of twins,

studious rocking at their desks,

tucked in, patting their head

as I scratch mine.

The lost triplet, tucked away

near the door, perpetual time-out

for a deed never dedicated.

A hidden fourth,

lost and forgotten,

unneeded and unnamed.

The fifth, the blue moon,

the favorite, the one

never picked last.

A sixth, the found friend.

A grandmother who wheels around,

baking. Bertha is beautiful.

The last, a grey futon.

Permanently perched

is a student, laptop chugging,

these words written

as they're read to you.