it was under a cold November sky when it happened/she smelled of fragrant shampoo and a slight hint of mashed potatoes/I don’t usually like mashed potatoes/but today they are my favorite/with lashes fluttering against cheeks/it was a zing/so natural/that I thought it must have been an illusion/but no/it was very real/the moment that your lips/touched mine.
when I was in fifth grade,
my dog died.
we had her before I was born.
we cremated her.
Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness
Lord, please, send me a message
Being American isn’t taking down your pride flags and cowering as far as you can from the ballot box when there’s no hope anymore
Why can’t I simply be me? A person of color, a queer youth, a writer? No one appreciates these things anymore. Now to try isn’t enough. That’s the saddest part. What shall I do when being trans and nonbinary isn’t allowed anymore?
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