I'm not the kind of person anymore
who looks at the sky 
and longs to touch it. 

I'm the kind of person now
who contemplates the distance
but never does the math.

I'm the kind of person
who writes a letter 
and never sends it.

The kind of person who
breaks their own mouth 
with words 
they never got to say. 

I'm the kind of person 
who laughs with 
the sun 
in my eyes 
and chokes
on her own tears.

It's not pathetic.
It's beautiful. 

You taught me
to trace the moon.

I taught you to 
dance in the dark.

It's all the same thing;
We never stop to look. 



 

the losing
the ones who lie where they're supposed to
the ones who speak when spoken to 
and bite their lip in fear of tasting blood 

the ones who like the rain 
because it freezes to their skull
the ones who slip on their own tears

the ones who ceased fire years ago

the laughing 
the ones who know the sun comes up
every morning
exactly because it wants to

the ones who know that smiling is like breathing:
never ending 

the ones who learn that happiness
is born from ash 

the living 
the ones who wake every night 
and contemplate the stars
like they are nothing more
than another spark 

the ones who know how to run 
and can't breathe without a fast pulse
"you know you're having fun
when you can feel your heartbeat" 

the ones who learn when they're small 

 

I heard about the shooting 
just after math class...
another shooting,

ANOTHER.

I couldn’t breathe.
The questions started fast
and wouldn’t stop.
How many injured?
Any killed? 
Which school? 
Where exactly?

Lucky this time,
that only two were seriously injured,
lucky this time that only
the shooter was killed. 

I’m not surprised,
I guess. 

Not surprised that it happened again. 

AGAIN.

And yet in some way
I am surprised,
even if only a little. 

”It’s one of those things you read
about in the news
but never expect
to happen to you.” 

And yet... 
maybe I should expect it. 
It happens so often now. 
 

The year I learned to fly
wasn’t the year 
I learned to run.

Running
is a different kind of flying,
one that comes straight
from your toes.

Lifts
you up with your heals.

Stretches
you out with your palms.

Pulls 
you from your stomach.
Elevation between your ribs.

I run from my middle.

Flying in loops:
sky becomes ground,
and ground becomes sky...

Softening at the edges,
mixing where it normally doesn’t.

Running
like you never meant 
to in the first place;
like you were never taught
to steer a bicycle 
when you were little.

You’re faster and more furious.
Taller and always alive.
Pedaling, but never enough. 

 

It snowed that day,
too much for March,
too much to go to school.

So I sat at home, in bed,
and facetimed silently with a friend
for the longest 17 minutes of my life.

When each minute passed
we held up another finger,
quietly despairing
for 17 young lost lives.

I could know the sadness,
see the sadness
too deep to describe. 

I'm sure I would have cried 
if I hadn't bit the inside of my cheek.
Be strong,
you know there's too much to live for.

It's not the kind of sadness I try
to understand,
not the kind of sadness
thats easy to put in a box
and shove down
the back of your throat. 

Not the kind of sadness
that's washed away
with 17 silent minutes. 


 

 

One thing I know for sure 
is that I didn’t mean
it when I told you
it “was just another day...”

Just another day where 
just another person got lost 
in the subway station 
and learned to smile.

Just another day where 
just another person
lit just another match 
they didn’t yet have the candle for. 

Just another day where 
we all faded
a little more into the asphalt:
shimmering puddles 
in deep cracks.

Just another day where 
I learned to fly 
when I lost my keys.

Just another day 
with a star-struck quote glued 
to the bathroom door. 

Just another day.
One thing I know for sure 
is that it wasn’t just another day.
I didn’t mean it... 

What I really meant was 
“My day was great,
I saw you smile,
I’m alive.” 



 

I could live off this 
excitement.
It roars through me,
I hear it like a waterfall in my ears,
rushing and beating.

I could live off a life 
of thumping heart beats
and excited smiles.

I studied myself 
in the mirror today, 
really examined
the creases and smooth 
parts. A little dip between my cheek bone
and chin,
the squishy tip of my nose,
my pumping veins.

I looked.
And looked. 

Finally, catching short breaths 
I decided 
that what ever had won me this award 
was not something that could be seen with the eye...
it was something much deeper and rooted. 

Something I wish you could have seen. 

I'm sure you hear
me 
when I whisper to 
you. 

Little words,
simple and under estimated.
Did you think they know 
us?

Do you think they know how to smile?
They probably don't even know
why "smile" was invented... if it was.  
Was it?

Do you think they can hear
me too? 
I hope they can't.
Some words are only meant for you.

Tomorrow

Slip

Star

Breath

Strong

Sunflower

Fragile

Ocean 

Lip

Light


They might not know us 
but they'll learn...
then what? 

Tell me you have a plan 
that hides diamonds the wall
and plaster in the sky.

Tell me you know what you're doing...
cause I don't.