maelynslavik

I want to sing like my best friend

Who effortlessly makes people sway with her voice

I want to dance like my dance teacher

Who makes every move look graceful

I want to write like my favorite author

Meet me at the River’s End

where waters slow and sink

where bank gives way to the bottomless depths

below the siren’s screams

Meet me in the Mountain Shade

her hands are chapped and raw from anxiously 

peeling away her skin

so she goes through every fidget she can find

and wears them down until they break.

her lips and nose are red and cracked

Imagine if emotional baggage looked physical.

They show me their phones, little boxes with even tinier little boxes that you press on and it fills up the big box. My girl taps one of the tiny boxes, it's purple and white and orange and she calls it in-sta-gram.