Eloise Silver Van Meter

The creativity has been rung from my brain
like a washcloth ready to dry
My socks tighten and my toes
can't move freely without aching feet
My eyes struggle to stay open, my spine struggles to stay erect,

Here is what I know:
When I feel something personal and meaningful,
my belly bubbles up inside
My mind begins to expand
and explore,
pondering future possibilities.
I become ensure of what to do with the swirling

Pitter Patter Pitter Patter
A crescendo of bullets hitting the glass roof
The sound seems to fluctuate as I sprout

I am still growing and my height now exceeds that of the ceiling

They don’t understand
how my small body and developing mind
can hold so many leaves

How my feet go through suppression
yet hold the trunk that is my body,

 On June 25, Donald Trump was once again accused of sexual assault. This time, by an advice columnist based in New York named E. Jean Carroll.

We wait like teenagers for our owners’ car to leave the driveway. All day has been spent reading the notes back in my head, turning the humans’ nonsense words into lyrics of my song, catching their absent-minded humming in my cracks.