I witness injustices often now. How come when we learned about the thirteenth ammendment they just "forgot" to mention how it turned the prison system into slavery? Or why are there so many more Native Americans and African Americans in jail than white people, even though white people make up most of the population? Why do we never talk about racism in our classroom? Or politics? Are these not important pieces in becoming a citizen? Why are we told that when we are bullied we should ignore, walk away, tell them to stop, and tell an adult, when the school does nothing? Why do BLM protesters get tear gassed and harmed during peaceful protests, while violent pro trump rioters are just let free? Why? I ask, but no one ever answers.
I want to never move on And yet I want change. I want to see my friends again So time must pass But I do not want my time to pass. I turn thirteen In a week. I do not want to forever be labeled "teenager" or "adult." I am a child. I still cry at movies and books. I still run up to dogs on the street and pet them. I still play childish games. Does this make me a child? I no longer go to bed at 8. I no longer have "playdates." I no longer want to play pretend or go to the playground. Does this make me a teenager? I hope not. I want to remain in my childhood But time has passed too quickly, Much of it taken, Less of it spent. Why do I have to go? Forced into this state of being Where I have to pretend I don't want to go play tag with the kids in the yard, Where I have to pretend I want to listen to the adults' dull chatter,
You sit in front of my window Roots ever searching the earth Intertangling with others Every one spiraling into another Twisting like locks of uncut hair Growing for years Caked with soil and warmth You absorb water from the earth You breathe with me Your mighty roots blend and swirl Perfect for a painting They embrace eachother Then strive for the surface Intermixing You create a strong trunk Dried out and greyed An old trunk Coated scarcely with browns and greys of bark And reds Knobs jutting out unevenly Not organized But they look as if they are part of the trees pattern Your trunk can't contain itself The roots are jittery So they flourish out Into branches First thick They become thinner And thinner Until the cut into the air Ever spiraling To the sky Yet rooted in place
My beautiful tree So different from the rest on our street The rest bloom white So boring So plain You are beautiful Your flowers bloom pink A cherry blossom The petals twist out from the bud Slowly spiraling up And then unraveling from their shell The thin branches that hold up the flowers Shrouded by your delicate blossoms Your center is a star Gleaming sunset orange With fairy dust kept inside Your petals are paper Painted with blushes And smiles from passersbys Your trunk It is my favorite part about you So strong and yet So thin It wraps and twists itself So it can hang over the street Its clusters falling Into the wind And being carried up To the heavens To be made again Into a magnificent bloom next year Breathtaking You stare down the street At your neighbors And you think Ahh
Repetition Without you I surely would be lost In waves of new They would crash down on me Breaking everything inside Shattering my mind Like it was merely glass And newness was a bulldozer My poetry would not be the same My life meaningless without you Routines I need those to How would I function without being told to do work? To get out of the house? To read or write poetry? Not told by others but by myself Out of routine Back to repetition I would surely be lost without you In waves of new Newness I need it as well Adventure welling up in this little cave My soul made for it I long for the adventures we used to have Climbing cliffs Or jumping off waterfalls Photographing a wild elephant Or squishing sand between my toes Ahh My repetition My routine Has already come down And my purpose
I feel like a tumbleweed Rolling, hitting things Smashing into harsh, harmful obstacles Just repeating over and over The same motion No matter how much space I roll over I can’t seem to stop No matter the difficulties I roll ahead Over hurt Over pain Over death Waiting Just waiting for the day When I can go back to being a flower I remember those days Barely I remember laughing along to the radio As we drive along Going wherever Nobody cares what's going on outside of the space Now if I were to try to tumble into that car I would just roll under the tires And be forgotten I would glance at my screen for a moment and go tumbling through the pixels Once again lost I would page through a book for a millisecond And get warped within it’s pages and words, words, so many words I would pet my dog for a heartbeat
We walk through the mountain forest Following the winding trail Tripping over pebbles Clambering over fallen trees We stop for water And take a breath Something hits us We smell it through our salty sweat Butterscotch! We ask our mom if she brought candy Or fudge from that place in town No She says But what is that smell? My sister turns And looks up at me Eyes wide and hopeful Is it the trees? She asks me No way! I walk up to the nearest It is a reddish brown Like rust Pieces of bark jutting out oddly Beautifully I put my hands up to the tree And lean I take such deep breaths I feel lightheaded And she is right It was the trees They smell of butterscotch! Yum! I rack my brain Trying to remember the tree types we learned in the nature class White oak? Dogwood? No ........ Hmmmm
What are we now? What can we call ourselves? A nation? A country? A big family? No We have people in this country who are loving and kind, peaceful, and yearning for equality We have people in this country full of rage and hate, broken dreams, racist ways, and violence How can we call ourselves a "Big Family" as news reporters keep saying They say we will all come together and the people who broke into the Capitol are wrong and they are defying our democracy And yet Police did nothing They allowed people to break down the doors Barge in with guns and bombs Speak out their racist hateful ideas And trample over our democracy What are we now? The police chief has been fired But is it enough? What about the terrorists you just let go Who got to sleep in their own beds And eat a nice dinner What about George Floyd? He was peaceful He didn't have a gun
