Writing

reminds me of crows billowing, in the middle of the day when I can see their wings

of snow and christmastime, falling bright orange or blue, covering shadows

watching it all from up high

I saw a photo of our band from last year

our Wind Ensemble

the intern we all fell in love with

the conductor we adore

everyone was together

and I just...

gah.

I wanted to yell STAY

Sack race

thirteenth birthday party

start of seventh grade.

My two BFFs since kindergarten,

the one that slipped in from fourth grade,

the two I met in fifth -

then of course my party girlfriends

The tides still ebb 

The sun still rises 

The trees still grow 

My curls are longer now. 

We have a new president new governors 

Different colors speckling made up maps 

How lucky am I?

To feel loved?

In a household and a family and a school that makes me feel not worth it

not good enough 

and I found someone outside of it all who loves me?

I used to have a purpose here.

Words would open,

and people would step inside them.

Photos would breathe,

and someone would stop to look.

Now it feels like I’m slipping—

here,