Poetry

A door stands quiet, out of sight,
Its edges lined with silver light.
It hums a tune both soft and low,
Of secret lands the brave may know.

I wave to my friends like the sky isn’t falling.
Like there isn’t a number stitched into my shadow.
Like I don’t hear iron doors in the middle of quiet streets.

This is a reflection a boy who bullied me when I was younger. Now, I think I might understand what he was going through.


He scarred me.

Deep.

into my bones.

It feels like

Grief.

Her name was Maria

My moms friend Maria

La mariposa she says

Soy la mariposa

Because she spread her wings

To the land of kings

Her name was Maria

My moms friend Maria

America was once known

For its promise

The American promise

That stated everyone was equal

No matter their race

Or gender

Now it’s known

“Try walking a mile in my shoes.”

“Fine, you were right, it was bad.”

they where way too small

I forgot my orthotics, so I rolled my ankle

It was cold, and your shoes are thin, so I’m cold

I wish I could go through a breakup.

I want to write sad poems

And listen to sad music

And cry in the dark

And scream into my pillow

I first began in the business of selling people when I sold a strange man in Jerusalem that I did not like for thirty silver pieces. Swaths of people flocked after him down into the precipice of the market.

Do a spell on me.

Cast it quick to fix me.

I can't see your love

Where is your love?

Why do I not love

you?

Do a spell on me

To love you like you do me

Fill me with dreams of you

 Something's spreading

Our children's thoughts

Those in power abusing

Stories leave me distraught

I walk a fine line.

Life and death.

Funny and weird.

Smart and dumb. 

Waiting for a light breeze to blow me one way.

Will I stay on this line forever?

When will I get off?

Time crunch of number crunching

calculators I didn't know we could use

a packet I'm so screwed for 

a teacher who doesn't teach

I have never been this panicked

meltdown mode