Writing

Sunny days brought her life.

The flower loved sunny days.

She flourished under the bright star,

smiled at its rise.

But then the next day,

it rained.

Hard.

Like a thunderstorm.

When you were a kid,

When you were still learning animal names,

And awed by the world around you,

What did it mean when you looked up,

At other kids, at adults,

My life, 

is a bottomless pit of expectations.

There are so many things

that people want from me.

And it's tiring.

My dad expects me to be perfect at sports,

My mom expects me to have perfect grades,

America is not make up of one flag

and should never resort to a statement otherwise.

I saw

many flags

that represent you and me

and US because

we are made up of 

gay,

queer,

trans,

There is nothing like the floating feeling of trying to do pilates in socks and listening to Cigarettes After Sex as your knees scrape against the carpeted floor and the almost-black almost-night clings to the windows. 

My mom says I have a strange way

Of connecting deeply with everyone

And it’s hard to say goodbye

This time

I knew the goodbye was coming

So I could leave one morning with peace in my mind

But you