Writing

We were birdsong
We were giant redwood trees
We were bones bleached by desert sun
We were metaphors and similes
We were poems and poets
We were wildfire
We were ebbing in and out
We were waves in the blue atlantic

The walls utter gossip at night.
They watch new women pass,
different steps, new perfumes,
claiming corners they'll never own.

I've seen a penguin in a trench coat 

Questioning the tide.

I've seen a pigeon on the couch 

Licking chip salt from its wings. 

We are told this is a free country ... 

But that's until someone speaks their mind 

That's until someone points out someone's differences 

I dread going to school every single day.

I hate it,

I hate being trapped there.

But I love being greeted by my best friend

who could make hell

feel as freezing as

these February Maryland mornings.

every once in a while,

the sky gets tired

and hides its face behind

hands of light gray clouds.

it sighs in quiet thunder,

and lets tears of blue

slip loose, trailing softly down