I am the girl drawing
alone in the empty art room,
a paintbrush in hand.

I am the girl who doesn't bother looking in the mirror.
I don't care what I see.

I'm the individual,
the girl who walks on her own path,
who doesn't care what anyone else thinks.

I'm fierce.
I'm loud.
I'm the girl who is not afraid to fight.

getting used to strangers
not returning smiles on 
the sidewalk makes you
not wish to smile in the
first place and at some
point you get far too
accustomed to twisted
ankles and getting pushed
to the side that when the
path clears up and you can
walk wherever you wish
you stick with familiar pain
because that is everything
you know and you don't
want to feel lost and alone
so when the strangers smile
you aren't quite sure how
to smile back, and when
you are always being told no
you don't know how to react
to the word yes and when
you are used to being treated
a certain way and you call 
that love, when you lose it
you think your life is over
but it's really just on hold
and you're not sure how to
start it again, it's quite a
shame to get used to pain
and it makes it so you can't let go
of twisted ankles because

I will not birth my daughter onto a scale
She will not be measured in pounds or ounces
My stomach will not deflate by inches or shirt sizes
I will measure my daughter in laughs and babbles, then toddles and wobbles, then monkey bars and scraped knees
We will eat ice cream and zucchini, on hot nights we will order fast food fries from a cheap drive-in run by highschool girls
And I will want to hold their hands and shake their heads and tell them to measure themselves with dandelion crowns and speeding tickets
I will measure my daughter in the short-stories she writes, the dress code violations she gathers like trophies, the baby birds she saves in boxes
I will make her cry when she asks for a scale and I say no, I will make her scream when I delete her calorie-counting app and bring home pie
Cherry will be her favourite and she will ask me to hide it at the back of the fridge

To imagine,
To lose yourself
To thoughts of creation,
To dreams of coming times,
To think of life past, future,
To avoid looking in front of you,
To envision what you think should be happening,
You make yourself believe that you are right,
You think today's life as the past,
You envision today just like yesterday,
You try to stall change,
You lose the fight,
You imagine winning,
You avoid.

 

This summer, I will
make the most of
the sun shining on me,
the blinding green 
of the woods
outside my window,
and the cool water
of the lake
near my house.

This summer, I will
make the most of
where I will be going:
a magical land
I am returning to,
but really,
it feels like I never left.

This summer, I will
see my friends,
discovering new things about them
you learn when you are not in school.

This summer, I will
breathe last year out,
inhale, exhale.
It was a good year.
I learned to be myself
(and who that really was.)
But now,
I am ready for a new year,
new experiences.

More than that, though,
I am ready to see the sun dance along the porch,
the leaves swaying in the trees,
to know that I have three months ahead of me,
before I choose electives,
compare schedules with my friends,

I would place my hand on your beating heart and ask you why. 
Force you to look into my eyes and ask you why. 
Stroke your grandmother's hair and ask her why.
Pick the lock at the sporting shop and ask him why. 
Read your Facebook posts and wonder why. 
Chase after your car and scream out why. 
Go through every classroom and whisper why. 
I would let you see me cry if only to answer why. 
But in your death, you committed the greatest crime of all. 
No explanation. 
Not a single word. 
You just took your gun 
and your hate 
and your pain 
and left. 

In response to the challenge, Uvalde. 
 

Young girl, you are beautiful
Your smile beams light and joy
Your laugh is infectious
If only more people were like you

You are a princess
Wearing gowns and tiaras
Slipping on your little silver shoe that fits like a glove
You, my dear, are loved by them all

A storyteller is what you are
Jumping from this story to the next
There is no keeping up with your tumbling words
And those words are lovely,
Truly wonderful

When I grow up I want to be like you
I want to laugh so much it starts to hurt
I want to share my stories with everyone I meet
I want to dress up and no longer fear what people will say

You, my darling, are my hero
Someone I will think of in moments of fear
Your laugh will stay in my head
Drowning out the noise from the rest of the world
Thank you for simply being you
Thank you for giving me hope

 

I often see omens in the natural world. I don't mean that in the weird ooky-spooky sense, I only mean that when I see a hawk, I like to think it's my grandma saying hi from the world to come. I see a blue butterfly and I wonder where it's headed – if it's on its way to becoming a sign for someone else. I'm sure I've missed or at least misinterpreted many signs from the universe in my life, but things always seem to have worked out anyway.