Writing

I am with my best friend, at her kitchen table, trying to tell her about a hard time I'm having.

I have this dream

where the sky is dark,

moon illuminating,

faded stars surrounding it,

that I gaze at from 

the top of my roof.

I guess I'm happy for you.

Actually, I really am.

At least, I'm expected to be.

Because, if you can't be proud 

of one of your best friends,

can you really be proud of

anyone.

On my first day of sixth grade, someone told me, “You’re the only person that has said that to me today.” You might be confused by what I just said, but I promise, you will soon understand.

Phantom Pain

I remember when we first met.

Terror laced in our spines,

 being introduced to the team.

We thought we were alone,