Mar 11

Forgotten Plans

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. 


 
Mar 08

Becoming a Feminist

I like to feel my words, 
scratch them up with fingernails,
pull them apart with whispers,
crack them open 
and squeeze their essence 
out onto my palm. 

I taste my words 
before saying them:
weigh the sweet undertones
to the bitter taste 
of forgotten curses.

Sing it as if you
never got to anymore.
Taste your words but
don't speak them. 
Trace your feelings 
with a golden ink 
and hide it in your shoe.
Don't tell you.

Slide these thoughts 
down the bottom part
of your consciousness
and sleep with them
under your pillow; 
worshiping is not the word. 

Slip through the glass
between too late
and too soon. 

"Feminist," they say. 
Dictator" I counter. 

(Don't tell me all the things I cannot be.) 



 
Mar 05

More Than Always

You asked me today,
out of the corner of your mouth
whether I like the rain.

I didn't know exactly. 
The rain carries all sort
of wonderful curses.

Contemplating the sky
is unwise
I decided suddenly.
I know why the birds fly
and that's enough for me.
It should be enough. 

Maybe it's not I argued laying
in bed late last night.
Maybe everyone should crave
more sometimes. 

The world deserves
to know a little more than always. 
Mar 02

Proving Ourselves to the Sun

Feb 27

Don’t Think


I love this life.
I don’t want to loose it.

And yet, everyday,
I’m scared I will.

I’m scared to go to public places
like protests
or the grocery store.

I’m scared to go
to high school next year,
scared that I’ll be trapped
in there like many others
before me.

I’m scared that one day
you and I
might be the next victims,
the next names
on a never ending list. 

I’m scared of myself.
I’m scared that I will burst
out crying in math class.

I can’t breathe
when I think about
Stoneman Douglas High School.
I can’t breathe when I think
about how similar we
are,
were,
could have been...
14 years old,
too much to live for. 

“Life is not meant to be wasted,”
I remind myself.

Don’t be scared. 

And still, 
it’s all I can
think about. 


Feb 22

To Mr. Trump

I cry myself to sleep
At night thinking
About the 17 DEAD 
In Parkland Florida. 

I cry myself to sleep
At night wondering
“Who’s next?”

I cry myself to sleep
At night wondering
Who those kids loved,
Who loved them? 

I cry myself to sleep 
Wondering
Why you can’t comprehend
The problem here? 

I cry myself to sleep
Because my school 
And my friends 
Could be the next 
Numbers 
On a chart.

I cry myself to sleep 
Because I’m so little. 
I have a voice you know,
I’m not as insignificant
As you might think. 
I KNOW HOW TO SCREAM. 

You don’t seem to care. 


So what can we do? 
What can I say,
What can WE say
That will make you understand
That we’re not safe...
We’re not safe at all. 
And those innocent kids who die
Because your not listening 
Feb 20

Sunshine Song


I know it’s late,
probably too late
to think properly 
but I love the dark 
and the silence 
and the soft promise of sunshine
sometime soon.

I sleep in a tight ball
with the mountains 
as guardians
and the hidden clouds as comfort.

Maybe we should all learn
to drink a little more stardust
in our coffee each morning.

Maybe we should stop
biting our nails
and dance around the kitchen a little.  

Never forget how alive 
you are in the moonlight.
Goodnight 


 
Feb 16

Running A Maze

thump, thump, thump
the identity of one
who never gets to scream

thump, thump, thump 
the stolen books beneath a seam

thump, thump, thump 
the carved out rind on a empty platter
  
thump, thump, thump 
the silence of your broken splatter 

thump, thump, thump
some written verse never sung

thump, thump, thump 
one old lost tale, never spun 

thump, thump, thump 
to the ones who never
learn to fly,
greater marvels of the sky
 
you always seem to say goodbye 
 
Feb 16

Breathing Fire

This inability 
to write,
to talk,
to scream
has caged me.

Ripped me up
from the inside out. 

I hate it
when I can’t pull
whole sentences together
like I used too.
I can’t breathe when that happens,
can’t seem to catch
my thoughts in one solid net
like usual...
it’s suffocating. 

Today was was the day
I learned that not everything
comes as easy
as it’s always supposed too.

Take a break, learn to breathe...
words are always
on the tip of your tongue.
 

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