Poetry

I thought I had gotten better

Thought I had everything under control

I have everything under control

Right?

I thought they were gone

But they're right there

Sitting behind me

Breathing into my ear

A ton of songs -

Over fifty -

I love them all,

But fade so quickly.

My interest dies

By the tenth repetition,

And so I move on

To a cooler mission.

This beat, this soundtrack

On a loop.

Music turn-in day

Is tomorrow.

While really it's just

Placing the papers in piles

According to instrument and part

Trying to organize everything

And hoping nothing's wrinkled

for one more time 
i will sit in the same place 
as I have for so long 

for one more time
i will be the people 
i've grown to know 
love and hate

The party ends the dancing

begins

beautiful mutual

agreement that social-ness

is exhausting.

Bouncing spinning laughing

hair in high pony tails

we're models singers dancers

this president can turn even the solemnest of holidays into an opportunity to say whatever he wants. the gravestones crumble in their fields of poppies listening to him speak. all uppercase. all lies.

Planning

Every day

Every chance that is given

Scheduling

Organizing RSVPs

Bugging people to respond.

Talking to the caterer -

We can have bourekas after all -

And studying

I want to write something beautiful

but I don't have anything beautiful inside me.

This spring it has been cloudy and rainy almost everyday,

but oh...those sunny days.

I am convinced that me being alive is to also die at the exact same time

I watch the girl in the mirror decaying 

She's replaying every word she's heard 

The world saying 

About her eyes

Her Lips

One day, we will live a life that is actually free

One day, we will be able to be ourselves without being afraid

One day, we will be able to speak our minds

One day, we will decide our own futures

But

wrap your laced-up fingers around my throat like you don’t want to breathe,

hold my pupils in your palms. do you want to smile?

amnesia. the brain doesn’t like the watercolour poem of my skeletal frame,

As the school year winds down,

So do I -

And yet

The homework

Does not.

We are saying goodbye

To beloved interns -

Beloved teachers -

If only for the summer -