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Loves
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All my friends are leaving
All my friends are eighth graders,
Or on the other team.
Aside from two,
Who I hope never tire of me
But probably already have.
All my friends are eighth graders,
Which means all my friends are leaving.
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Past the Stars
Find your footing on the ground
Solid, like you know who you are
Watch it soar through the sky
Like a broken piece of the sun
Shooting up past the stars
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Maybe They Don't
Do the penguins care
about the one with orange beaks, an extra stripe?
Do the giraffes mind
that his neck is longer, that she has less spots?
Because the humans do,
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routine details
the bus driver glared at me
like i was a sin to society;
he called me a fag—under his breath,
and i got in my seat like nothing happened.
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lady liberty
She stands there,
head held up high
forever staring at the sky
until those men
(with their pitchforks and matches)
tear her down into debris.
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Dress
sometimes the dress feels like a soft breath
a quiet hope wrapped in fabric
that touches my skin like a secret i’m afraid to speak aloud
it’s the way light moves when i twirl
the way i feel seen without saying a word