May 13

Alacrity - Spoken Word

Here is another video I created using WeVideo!
Written, read, created, and mostly filmed by me
Song: "You're Somebody Else" Instrumental by Flora Cash 

There is sunshine this morning. 
It warps the frost on the window,
melts frozen feathers into my palm, 
dampens the folded cuff of my coat. 
I'm not waiting for anyone. 

This morning there is music resonating
down the hallway at school. 
Someone stands in the center of a room to my right,
mouth open,
dancing with words,
smiling only half as wide as me. 

There's ink on my wrist,
blued from writing late into the night 
when my bare feet refused to walk
in the solitary dark to the cold sink down the hall, 
wash my hands
with frothy soap under endless water. 
May 05

One I Found

I’m waiting for the day
the sun doesn’t rise. 

I’m sure it will be like any other:
cold dew on the grass,
coffee in the morning,
quietly waking in the dark
to pull on thick knit sweaters
and scratchy wool socks. 

I won’t miss it. 

I won’t miss the gradual warmth
and the golden smudge of light
on the floorboards. 

I won’t miss the sun’s flame
methodically lighting the world’s candle. 

You confessed once,
when you thought I was asleep, 
that you tell a lot of lies. 

I couldn’t understand
until now. 

Apr 23


This was supposed to be a poem for me.
At least, it was when I started.

Maybe it's a little ironic
to start with how it wasn't supposed to be started
and tell you anyway. 

You've always had a fascinating
way of turning me on my head. 

I thought I knew what I was doing. 
I thought I understood 
leaving and living 
and what makes me human 
and how to feel infinite 
or happy 
or whatever the word is. 

Ectsasy? Elation?

I am so much more than I thought. 
You have persuaded me into noticing 
and once I start I can't stop.

It's like meeting an old friend 
that has been gone for ages 
and suddenly they're everywhere:
in the same parking lot;
searching for the same book in the same library;
opening the silent door of consciousness in my sleep. 

And this is just the start.
This is just the title page

Apr 21

Spring Blooms

Apr 19


Apr 11


We forget every day to wear
shoes out of the house, especially 
when it is warm
and the sun drips from the sky 
like an overripe mango.

We no longer look both ways
before we cross the street,
or while
or after. 

We are too eager,
too care-free,
too much "go"
and not enough "slow".

"Hold my hand," he says as if I trust him,
as if I ever could. 
"Yes," is not an option anymore. 

We’re our own obnoxious warning signs. 
Apr 01

City 6.24

We are holding up the sun 
when, after the sky is in full bloom,
we contemplate the distance around the Earth,
and how far we are from the equator,
and if we will ever stand on it.

We are the ones you see
out of the corner of your eye
when you stand at the window of someone else's apartment
and feel like crying and try to stop but do it anyway. 

We are the ones
on top of the building on the corner of Canal Street.

We are the ones you try to find in the middle of the night:
eyes squinting into the black stairwell, 
damp feet on the wooden floor,
try and can't. 

We love to get lost
and never found.
Mar 25

We Are Learning There is More to Life than Breath

I've been dreaming of him lately
and for the past three years. 

I understand living has everything
to do with dying
and not the other way around. 

I am aware there is irony
in sleeping till noon
and staying up past midnight. 

I am aware most people
are helpless or hopeless
or both. 

I understand that music is not the solution
to loneliness
or love
or falling out of either. 

We are learning that most questions
are rhetorical. 

I never want to wake up. 
Mar 25

Lincoln's Peak