Writing

     I am having a dream about the senior class graduating.

     It is a beautiful day

     And I am watching from a hill

     Sobbing as the hats fly off

“Let me tell you a story” his mother said

“Okay! What’s it called?” Neo asked impatiently

“The Little Prince of Everything Everywhere All at Once”

“Momma I’ve heard that one already!”

I hate that I am only loved when you feel like it,

like I'm lovable but only when there is nothing better,

you miss me but you just miss having me as an option,

you wish I was there but only when nobody else is free. 

She has just showered, and her hair hangs limp down her back, washed of the shampoo she waited five minutes, forehead against the cool tile wall, to rinse off. The sky is ink and charcoal, but then, it has been for hours.

Winter caught my Christmas lights 

and froze them into icicles— 

now even the cold knows how to shine. 

Feeling lost.

Feeling down.

I have yet to feel the warmth of the sun.

I sit, and I stay, alone, away from everyone.

I feel isolated.

I feel afraid.