Writing

We met like passengers
assigned to the same row
close enough to share armrests,
not a destination.

I am but 

One speck in the Universe, 

One piece of the world, 

One person amidst a billion. 

I am just 

We lie inches apart, 
faces turned from one another, 
like two commas in the same sentence 
that never connect. 

And I looked, and there was this ugly brown girl asking for some less brownness, perhaps.

I am 15, that's young. 

I have just started high school and am experiencing a lot of firsts right now. 

Yet at the same time some days feel weird. 

The wind blows in my face, and I shiver. It's so miserably cold. I feel soft, little things pelting my coat. Lifting my hands, I reach them out and find little white dots speckling them.