We lie tired

Bundled up in puffers and scarves

On the pleather seats of the bus that felt like home. 

You rummage through your red lunchbox, 

Unpacking each item carefully 

Announcing to everyone what’s inside

Making us laugh, 

Only to throw it away. 

You open the window, 

Allowing the cold to rush in,

Chilling our faces and turning our cheeks frosty pink. 

We laugh as each baby carrot 

And quarter of a sandwich, 

Would tumble to the rushing road below. 

We toss starburst wrappers behind the last seat, 

Watching them pile up 

And get neglected by the janitor. 

Sweet elementary adrenaline 

Felt like real rebellion. 

The bus becomes a haven 

A relic of childhood 

A place of fun in the dark of dawn, 

And in the golden light of an autumn afternoon. 

In the dead of dusk 

Today I yearn 

Close my eyes and just pretend 

That I once more 

Will rest my head on my backpack 

And borrow your headphones

Listening to music that only you like, 

But it’s okay. 

Because on the bus, 

Nothing was wrong with the world. 

Rumbling away from a childhood dream

Went bus 34. 

i learned 
life liberty 
the pursuit of happiness 
before i learned 
how often a promise 
can hesitate 

no one mentioned 
how often you’d have to prove 
you deserved the words 

i’ve learned on my own 
there are places 
where i soften my voice 
where i let people assume 
something easier about me 

it works 
and that makes me angry 
in a quiet way 

no one taught me that part 
of the experiment 

i don’t think the declaration lied 
i think it promised too soon, 
before it understood 
how selective belief can be 

equality sounds simple
until you ask
who gets to move through a room
unchallenged

liberty feels clean
until it depends
on who’s watching

happiness
is the strangest part
something you’re told to chase
but never slow down for

maybe the experiment isn’t failing
maybe it’s just honest
about what it still refuses
to give freely

i want to believe
those words were written
for breath
for bodies
for voices like mine

no one told me
they might not be.

the year,

just days i crossed off on the calender,

time elapsed too fast for my slow pace,

i sprint to catch up, 

yet i am left behind,

crying,

screaming,

is anyone still here with me? 

the year,

a blur in my memory,

changed,

but still not the person i want to be,

still breaking free,

from willful ignorance,

let my innocence shatter,

and step into the glass. 

the year,

half filled with stupid tears,

but those stupid tears form the pond,

where i can see the reflection of who i was,

and who i am,

and though i often look at that girl with disappointment,

and despair,

and dread,

i love her. 

and maybe i don't say that enough. 

and maybe i'm too hard on myself,

and maybe i'm not hard enough on myself,

and maybe i'm lost,

and maybe i'm confused,

but maybe i'm trying my best. 

and thats what i've learned this year,

trapped in the shadows of people who seem to have it all together. 

i'm trying, just like i was last year, and just like i will next year. 

i promise