Poetry

On the first warm night of spring

I lie on my bed with my window open

The cool breeze skates over my skin

Leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake

I fear that I lied to you, straight to your face

When you looked me in the eyes and asked

If I was ok, how I was doing

And I lied, straight to your face

There is nothing wrong with

wearing ribbons in your hair and

twirling in your plaid uniform skirt and

dressing like a tomboy sometimes and

refusing to let anyone tell you not to

wear your heart on your sleeve;

I recently read a book in verse.

I read it for the millionth time,

and it hits hard every single time. 

And it didn't make me think too hard

at first.

it didn't make me sad, 

It's a tree,

A plain old Apple tree,

So why does it mean so much to me?

The apples aren't normal, 

They're mostly rotten,

But the tree,

That apple tree,

It brings me peace,

Shade, 

Scene One

(Stage)

(Dr. Snowday sits in her chair, wrapping tape around her wrists.)

Dr. Snowday: Actors and Techie, start the show!

if the world were to burn tomorrow morning

i would laugh in its face

because who is dumb enough 

to care about a world

that doesn't care a single bit about them?

truthfully, i don't know.

The atmosphere has a sudden, unshakeable stillness-

Unaware of what has been forecasted.

Children push on swings and frolic through fields.

The calm before the storm.

I am alone, truly alone, alone, alone, alone. 

I am alone.

I am broken.

I am helpless.

I cannot stand back up.

I will never see the daylight again.

Words used to flow easily out of my fingertips,

my pencil effortlessly connected constellations,

as a stream of simple thoughts transferred perfectly onto a page,

but now my mind is mush,

To be a woman,

you have to mask your flaws.

A little girl, upset at the world-

"you're fine," her mother says.

That girl, now eleven,

is picked on by her peers.

"You're fine," her mother says.

Author's Note- This poem is about a time where I struggled with a lot of intrusive thoughts about the concept of mortality-- none of these thoughts were intentional or wanted.