Poetry

The United States of America

as seen on the binding documents, on formal things

USA

as said by random people you know

The US

as told by your parents

America

Next week is the dance

and you cut her off

Next month is my birthday

and you tore her heart from her chest with your own two hands

Next year is high school

Have you seen dreams?

I found mine

Living among the snow

Which was barren

Which held no glow. 

It was very bright-

The dream that is-

Kind of light 

"I love you"

You say.

Coming from you it's

Bittersweet.

I always return the gesture 

Of course.

I do, after all.

But how can I forget?

Dear dad,

Empty as a glass

Thoughts? Nothing left to sip now

Just the ullage left. 

I could ramble on all day about the ethics of all the things our country’s done. 

But I won’t. 

Instead I’ll say this one thing: it’s going to happen again. 

Pain is a sign 

That something is not right

Just because I have 

A high pain tolerance

Does not mean

That I have to ignore it.

there's a jar on my nightstand;

it used to be my grandmother's

but i recycled her memory 

into a pandora's box full of happiness.

the slips of paper are periwinkle

with dark purple penned messily,

Sometimes I imagine 

That my life is a movie 

Each scene belongs to a song 

Each song to a scene 

Sometimes I let myself 

Just float in the music 

My little notebooks, 

with lined paper so blue like the sea, 

With words of my thoughts upon its pages that have gotten me through so much hardship.

it stretches my face apart 

not unlike the plates 

we learn about in science class. 

pulling at my jaw, 

cheeks, 

lips, 

until finally 

my whole demeanor