to be a person.
to be a person.
i.
i feel like time is dragging me along by the hand
the way a mother tugs her child to preschool/
but instead of kicking and flailing and screaming
i am numb to the days that pass
despite my silent urgency.
there is so much i want to do
but my body is stone/
and my mind is blank.
i am no longer stardust—
now i bathe in my self-pity and despise everything.
i do not want to be here because there is nothing
here. we somehow listen to people who live hundreds of years in the past and blindly follow words on pages that need to be rewritten/ and i hate them all with an intensity that burrows itself into my bones but refuses to be released. i know i am a coward; i have said it before.
and this is why i would not survive anywhere else, why i would not survive in the pages i wish to disappear into. because i am not what i read/ i am merely a foolish pretender.
ii.
i hate that our lives can be measured in minutes.
i cannot determine if it is time well spent or if i am wasting days to an assemblage of wires/ but i do not care anymore because i am young and i still have time (on my side).
it is the only thing that eases pain so i succumb and become endless. /i know too much; i do not know enough./
iii.
i think my greatest desire is to be extraordinary even though i am far from it. of the billions of people on this burning planet i must have the same thoughts as another.
individuality is a lie.
sometimes i think the world is out to get me because i am in a perpetual state of loneliness and i know i could do something to change it but/ i prefer to wallow and sit inside my egocentric being.
sometimes i think i hate myself because of who i am but then i realize i hate myself only
because of the world. i have been told by the world since childhood that i am not enough and despite my greatest efforts to whittle myself back down into a blank piece of wood/ i persist unwillingly.
i feel like time is dragging me along by the hand
the way a mother tugs her child to preschool/
but instead of kicking and flailing and screaming
i am numb to the days that pass
despite my silent urgency.
there is so much i want to do
but my body is stone/
and my mind is blank.
i am no longer stardust—
now i bathe in my self-pity and despise everything.
i do not want to be here because there is nothing
here. we somehow listen to people who live hundreds of years in the past and blindly follow words on pages that need to be rewritten/ and i hate them all with an intensity that burrows itself into my bones but refuses to be released. i know i am a coward; i have said it before.
and this is why i would not survive anywhere else, why i would not survive in the pages i wish to disappear into. because i am not what i read/ i am merely a foolish pretender.
ii.
i hate that our lives can be measured in minutes.
i cannot determine if it is time well spent or if i am wasting days to an assemblage of wires/ but i do not care anymore because i am young and i still have time (on my side).
it is the only thing that eases pain so i succumb and become endless. /i know too much; i do not know enough./
iii.
i think my greatest desire is to be extraordinary even though i am far from it. of the billions of people on this burning planet i must have the same thoughts as another.
individuality is a lie.
sometimes i think the world is out to get me because i am in a perpetual state of loneliness and i know i could do something to change it but/ i prefer to wallow and sit inside my egocentric being.
sometimes i think i hate myself because of who i am but then i realize i hate myself only
because of the world. i have been told by the world since childhood that i am not enough and despite my greatest efforts to whittle myself back down into a blank piece of wood/ i persist unwillingly.
The Voice
August 2023
Camp Memories
When packing up to go home Don’t forget to pack your memories If you lose them The way that you remembered them is forever gone Keep them safe and wrap them with a pretty silk bow Don't be scare...
Organized Yet Abstract
A streak of gray rushes to the sky, Soaring and arching, Up, up, up. A thin line of smoke is left behind, A trail of the firework's journey. It begins to ark, The parabola beginning to be graphed, Som...
The River Speaks
There is a web and it holds us. Pieces come apart so we help rebuild it. We are a species that has forgotten our place on the web, so the earth reminds us. It shows us that there are some lines that w...
Photography
Photos; they capture memories, moments, too, that you cherish, keeping them preserved forever. A fond moment stuck in time? Now stuck in colorful ink on paper. A memory you’ll soon forget? Months, yea...
Wistful Words
Poetry used to fall from my earthy lips like flowers. My words were lightning My hands thunder My tears like glass and waterfalls Falling heavily onto each chalky page. But now my tears are salt And t...
Photography
Photos; they capture memories, moments, too, that you cherish, keeping them preserved forever. A fond moment stuck in time? Now stuck in colorful ink on paper. A memory you’ll soon forget? Months, yea...
Jasmine + Azalea
Our lips are made of daisiesand our cheeks are strewn in roses,pressed to opaque lilac air,knotted fingertips brushingblooming beams of naked feuillage,buds drafted in sunlight, weldedin his blurry ha...
The Storm Inside
Before the storm,I see the darkness,an ominous silhouette on the horizon.I feel the wind, making the trees sway from side to side,a gusty swoop of exhilaration. A Phoebe bird in a willow tree, as the...
to be a person.
i. i feel like time is dragging me along by the hand the way a mother tugs her child to preschool/ but instead of kicking and flailing and screaming i am numb to the days that pass despite my silent ...
The time is now
This is a poem I wrote during my time at The Governor's Institute of Vermont for The Youth Action and Global Issues week. I wrote this with Josslyn, Josie, Reese, Fiona, Sadie, and Ellie._____________...
Dark, dark (Midnight)
I am dark dark. Ebony. Melanin. Not sun-kissed but scorched. Not moonlight but midnight. Not sky but sea.
ARE YOU AWAKE YET? (You expected something sweet)
ARE YOU AWAKE YET? Is a burst of rage through a prompt of sweetness and peace, about the conditions of our world, the fact that we have all the resources to fix it, and the problem of "waking up" peop...