Writing

Grass grows. 

It gets trampled into the dirt 

until it is dirt. 

It disintegrates and decomposes and falls 

apart, 

into the soil. 

Studying like my life depends on it

Prepping like my life depends on it

Driving like my life depends on it

my eyes open slowly.

my bedroom is full of sunlight, 

highlighting the hay yellow paint.

the comforter hugs me gently.

a day like most days.

My science teacher accused me

playfully and yet fiercely

of stealing an envelope

I had been threatening to peel the cover strip off of the sticky part

so it glues together

because it was just so tempting.

My life is like a lake,

All water and round,

So clear it is a mirror,

Or rather, a looking glass.

But when you look a little closer,

Dip your toes beneath the surface,

I haven't seen democracy since I was four years old, 

coloring with crayons outside the lines while a man on screen was coloring the map with too much red that the blue was overpowered.