Apr 08

List (Simple Pleasures)

Those nights where there is no sound except for the silent tick of the clock whose hands point well past the time that you should have fallen asleep, and the steady swish of the pages of your book.

Coming down at ten on a Thursday to find that the world is not brown and gray and spotted here and there with bursts of fluorescent, but a solid white-- and the smell of something baking in the oven fills the room.

Smiling too big so that your mouth gets tight and cramps at a sunny cafeteria table with the greatest friends in the world and laughing over absolutely nothing that is not absolutely nothing to you and them.

Singing to yourself in the shower, because the water in your ears and the too-loud music drowns out your voice, and you feel absolutely alone with the music inside you.

Apr 06

A Letter To The Alphabet (Literally)

Dear Alphabet,
Thank you for always being here for me,
even if I didn't know I would need you.
I wasn't sure what to make of you when I first met you.
You had always been a mystery before then.
But, you came along all bright and bold,
and I didn't understand your antics.
You were loud and quiet,
and straight and loopy and zigzagged and curved. 
And no, I didn't fall instantly in love.
I was skeptical at first.
Convinced at the fact that I need to get to know you.
Later, through the years I talked to you a lot.
Those days when I couldn't say anything right,
you were the one who I could speak to.
You always understood me,
(even when I didn't understand myself).
You were there to help me understand.
You helped explain what I need to see.
So a thank you for that.
And of course, there were those times,
when I simply couldn't agree with you.
Apr 05

What We Are Teaching

Mar 30


How many half-finished pieces
I've written.
My pencil slipping across the paper,
my fingers staining the blue lines.
Words echoing into oblivion,
thoughts tumbling away.

How many half-finished pieces
I've written.
Forgetting what I've said,
remembering what I was trying to say.
Looking at other's bits and trying to see
where their's line up with mine--even a little.

How many half-finished pieces
I've written.
Later awake than I should be,
rubbing at my eyes, blinking away the light.
Watching a cursor move as squiggles
take shape.

How many half-finished pieces
I've written.
Enough to fill another
with maybe an ounce of meaning.
Mar 30

I Don't Want To Be Scared Anymore

I don't want to be scared anymore.
Is that too much to ask for,
in the land of possibility?

I don't want to be scared
of the drills in our school,
where the lights go off,
and the door is locked.
Where we cower in a corner,
and I'm pretty sure that this is just a drill,
because my school is safe.
In a small rural Vermont town,
that's what I think.
a gun threat was made
close enough to home to have me worried.
A threat,
at a school,
where close friends of mine
were supposed to go not even a week later.
So how can I believe that my school safe after that?
I can't.
Last year it was 15,000 people.
How many will it be this year?
And as I sit hiding in a corner, in the dark,
while people whisper when the teacher isn't looking,
I take a deep breath.
I try to remember
if I said hi to my friends in the halls...
Mar 28

I Know People

I know people
who can speak words
so powerful,
that they cascade against
and shatter the glass
walls that cage them in.
There words so full of truth,
they're overflowing.
It's their nature to be heard
because no one can silence their

I know people
who are blind to their beauty,
both inside and out.
And the uniqueness they think is
They stare at their imperfections
and cry their silent tears,
though everyone else sees what's really there.

I know people
who waste the life they are given.
They complain about homework
and school.
And the stuff they would be
wishing for if they were without it.
The privilege they have,
to attend the school they wished so much
to be out of.

I know people
who smile like a viper.
Their eyes do not crinkle
or light up,
but they pretend.
Mar 09


Be brave.
She whispers in my ear,
late at night,
in the dimmed light of my room.

Be brave.
He says before I line
up to race,
for what could be the last of the season.

Be brave.
They shout up
to me, when I can't
go any further.

But what if I can't be brave?
What then?

Be brave.
I say to myself.

Be brave.
Mar 08

What To Say When You Don't Know How

"keep the ones that heard you when you never said a word"

To have found you.
In the off chance,
Life is luck is chance.
And that's what it was that I met you.

You are my other halves,
my stars, and my sun
(I'll be the moon).

My trails on the mountains--
for those times I get lost,
or my lifevest
for when I'm drowning.

Though you would think it unheard
of if I was drowning.

You know me--
but you get me.

You share my passions,
you understand my hardships.
You are there for the times I need you,
there for the times I don't,
and all the times in between.

You are there for the lunches
where we discuss politics, injustice--and justice,
the days where you organize school walkouts,
and for the days where we discuss...lesser topics.


It's dark.
Not dark, devoid of light.
The lightless dark invades my eyes
willing me to make sense of the world
I'm in.
But, there is
Nothing to see.

It’s heavy.
Not heavy, stifling.
It squeezes, it pulses, it pushes, it pulls.
It snags in my fingers,
and weaves its way between my toes.
I reach out to grab it.
But there is nothing.
Nothing to feel.

It's quiet.
Not quiet, soundless.
I turn slowly, my feet making no sound.
Not a stomp. Not a pop. Not a tap.
Not a whisper.
For there is
Nothing to hear.

I am alone
in this world of
suffocating dark

I call out.
But I cannot speak.
I run forward.
But I go nowhere.
I am pointless,
No one.

It is still dark.
It is still silent.
It is still smothering.
It is everything and nothing.
Mar 07

Grains of Sand

An hourglass
Lazy blazing afternoon light
catches the glass angles and
glints off
reflecting the stars.

Somewhere a single bird calls,
a river trickles,
and children laugh in a field.

A grain of sand slides slowly,
drops pitifully small,
and sits at the bottom.

Somewhere a small,
brightly colored, waxy,
candle is blown out,
marking one more year.

Another falls. Two.
Now they are together
down there on the bottom. They are lonely,
but at least they are not alone.