Poetry

1. i do not believe in miracles.
2. i encourage people to be optimistic. you never know what lies ahead.
3. i am nearly thirteen years old and adults tell me every day i was born to be a poet.

You say we lived happily during the war 

as if it was a sin 

As if, in the heat and fire of the end, we 

are not to relish in the good 

we all grow in different directions

planted in the same soil

springing up towards the sun

when I went right you went left

we're going different ways

trajectories

Everything I ever wanted

How strange

to have a category in my inbox under "friends" for you -

one you've yet to earn

and every time I fall for this trick

and it hurts

every

time

we practically fall over ourselves these light afternoons,

rushing like snow amongst crocuses to be the first ones outdoors,

on our bikes, to the corner, down the hill. oh lord the hill! it is

the forest knows me

& takes me back this day

calling

i am lightened,

please come stay.

shatter me stars 

a thousand shards of tomorrows 

breaking across the dawn 

picked out in typeset and ink 

a thousand flaming horizons 

reaching forward 

as I shatter 

Don't join those kids in teasing that girl.

Sure, she was annoying,

But you are too,

And sure those kids were safety, 

But they will soon dissappear,

And you will be left with only the guilt,

I’d leave the unmade bed,
the pile of textbooks that feel like lead,
and the mirror that’s never quite right.

I’d just walk until the streetlights
stop looking like eyes,
and start looking like stars I can actually reach.

I am my own hero,

not because I fly or hold the sun,

but because when the foundations cracked

and the roof gave way to the weight of it all,

I did not let the dust become my grave.

Night reached a sticky hand 

Into her packet of pop rocks, hair

Messy but with perfect curls, eyes

Ever-changing with the color of dusk, 

Silky purple dress that twirled 

When it all hurts 
I watch the sunset,
I hear it tell me there is still beauty.
I see it gleaming
The sweet strawberry red
That stains the sky like red staining our fingertips
Leaving behind wisps of orange