Nov 03

After the end of time

The clocks stopped two hours ago. Or so we think. 
There isn’t really anyway to tell, of course. 
They let us go from school early, 
except cars didn’t work, phones didn’t ring,
clouds didn’t move, birds hung suspended in the air, motionless. 
“Yay, no school!” the younger kids yelled obliviously,
though us older students knew something was wrong.
There was nothing we could do, 
so we all simply walked home. 
Our phones didn’t work, 
the TV stuck on a shampoo commercial,
the model’s glossy hair filling the screen silently. 
The leaves wait in the still wind, 
acting like large snowflakes caught in a snapshot. 
As time seemed to pass, the sun did not say goodbye, 
hitting obnoxiously and unrelentingly upon the ground. 
Night never filled the sky.
Tiredness hit us with no remorse in the midday light,
and when we wake up, 
nothing has changed.
Is this to be the end of time?
Oct 28

Why not?

There is nothing more that I long for 
than to travel the face of this earth, 
to try to find what is over the next horizon,
what is beneath every cloud. 

I wish to find every secret, 
purposeful or not, 
hidden by those of the past, 
or buried by nature. 

This wanderlust is but 
a desire to know the world, 
to live in every aspect of the word,
and die without regret.

Why not now? 
Why can’t I pack up everything this second, 
get in my car, and get out of here?
Why not?

Keep putting it off and off and off, 
I’ll do it once I’m out of high school…
...out of college…
…after I’m married…

Wait too long, and there are too many chains
--marriage, work, bills, kids, social obligations--
so why not now?
Why wait only to get tied down more?

I propose a call to action;
all those who feel this pull like I do,
Oct 21

Alive in a Dead Life

     I feel alive when the sky breathes, when the mountains I ascend hug the horizon and fill every crevasse in my fractured heart, when the smell of decaying leaves shoves it way up my nose, when I feel the mud beneath my feet as I sprint through waterlogged fields barefoot, when the rough bark scrapes my hands as I climb the highest trees in the forest, when the water in the lake splashes my face and onto my boat, when the rock I step on in the river rolls and topples me into the freezing water, when I say screw expectations because nature doesn’t care who I am.
Oct 13

A Small Description of Winter (To Me)

Winter is the smell of pine and christmas trees, 
the brightness of stars among the dark, cold sky. 

It is the sting of too many snowballs formed in hands, 
the warmth of a blanket while watching the cheesy movies. . 

Winter is the taste of gingerbread and apple cider,
the feeling of scratchy scarves under your chin,

to shovel heavy slosh over your shoulder, 
and notice bright red berries in the snow. 

Winter is the desire for the season of frost, 
and then the yearning for spring a month later. 

It is the season of family and friends, 
of sharing food and gifts and smiles. 

Winter is that feeling of timelessness, 
the freezing of sand in an hourglass. 

Winter is the inevitable promise 
of dragon breath clouds and red cheeks. 

Cinnamon and hot cocoa, 
glistening ham and candy canes,

the crack of ice and layers of snow,
Oct 05

This Abandoned House

The house at the end of my street is abandoned. 
Since I was a child, my parents have admonished me, 
“Don’t go into that house, there is evil there,”
and I would believe them with my child innocence. 

How many times have I turned my longing gaze 
upon those tall oak doors,
and felt this emotion so deep in my heart 
that can only be described as yearning?

And now, a decade and a half later, 
my parents have moved away,
I have grown into my own being, 
and there is nothing to stop me. 

The floor creaks as I step inside, 
dust drifting through the shafts of light.
I drop my blankets and pillows 
in the living room with scattered furnishings. 

There are more rooms than I’d thought,
so by the time I finish exploring, 
night has dominated the sky, 
and the candles in the doorways are...lit. 

How have they been set aflame? 
Sep 28

To Live a Thousand Lives

I woke up as a chicken today. 
Yesterday I was a little girl living in Texas.
The day before, a beetle. 
For more days that I can count, 
I have woken up as a different creature, 
every single day.
There has been no rhyme or reason
as to how this happens, 
no one to tell me what to do
to get out of this situation. 
I don’t even remember who I was supposed 
to be when I was born. 
Was I just destined to be someone else
my entire life? 
Do I even have a life of my own?
I have lived more lives than possible, 
seen everything around the world three times over. 
There have been dark days,
days that I didn’t want to continue on 
in this never ending cycle.
I have lived lives no one would ever want to live. 
And yet I find myself excited to see where I’ll be the next day.
Will I be a bird, flying high over the Grand Canyon?
Sep 23

Min Framtid

My craziest dream is not to walk on the moon, 
or even to become a famous singer. 
All I want in this instant, 
the future I imagine for myself 
that I’m excited to work towards,
is to live in Sweden. 
Don’t laugh at me, it’s true!
I want to go to college 
and fulfill the rest of my days in Sweden. 
I have no idea. 
But like all journeys, I must begin with a single step. 
And for me, that step right now is just learning verbs. 
Talar is to speak. 
Springer is to run. 
Skriver is to write. 
And I have thousands more to learn.
This is the only direction I can think to go in, 
and if I’m excited about this future, 
doesn’t that make it worth it?

Detta är min framtid.
This is my future. 
Sep 16

The Unclear Definition of Me

I am the one who can only find the bad parts of things, 
the one who knows the glass is half full, and half empty, 
    and chooses the empty. 
I’m that girl that is quiet, reserved to herself, 
lost in a world inside her head. One day she will write about 
    that world, once she has explored every corner herself.

There is no place that I cannot see
without thinking of the beauty, imagining the colors
    on a piece of paper, hanging on a wall.

To me, the world is too silent, 
the wind in the trees is not enough to cover the sound 
    of buses beeping and car engines sputtering. 
And because of that, I take what the world gives me, 
and listen to the Earth’s music, while I add in my own melody, 
Sep 06

The Beginning

Jump in. 
I look at the churning water beneath me, the waves cresting just inches below my toes. 
Jump in.
My mind yells, but my body ignores. Fear runs rampant in my veins, rooting me to the spot. To the rock. To safety. 
But this isn’t safety. 
Speckles of water spray me in the face. My limbs are shaking, from the cold, from the adrenaline. 
I clench my fists and dig my fingernails into my skin. The pain is my anchor, bringing me back to reality.
Jump in.
Taking a deep breath, I fill my lungs with the salty air, hold it, and with the oxygen still trapped inside, I jump
Suspended in the air, in time, in nothing at all except a state of weightlessness and exhilaration. It’s almost like I’m flying. 
I wish I was. 
But then gravity pulls me down, pulls my dream from my head and throws it into the air far above me, letting me watch as I hit the waves and sink.
Sep 03

to hear the trees talk

Hiding beneath a blanket of daylight, 
I hear them. 

They don't know I'm here, 
a human buried in their presence,

listening to them hum their language of old 
twisted tongue and the wind whistling 

between their teeth. 
The sun's rays move around their bodies,

and they titter at the thought of being 
draped in robes of solar power. 

They imagine the bugs crawling 
on their limbs are pets, 

giving them names to dote upon, 
the birds are their friends,

the fox slinking nearby
a stranger. 

The trees entertain
the idea of humans, 

the same way we humor the view of a dog. 
But beneath that, a hint of loathing, 

a whisper of war in their hearts. 
We have killed too many of them, 

their kind cut in half 
as we cut them with axes. 

To be a tree is to be ethereal,