Middle school.
I look up at your cracked, cream-colored ceilings
and your dusty, caramel carpet. 

Outside your vintage windows, 
six-graders are playing capture the flag,
thinking middle school never ends. 

But you are.
You're ending for me,

And sure I'll remember the egg drop and the Olympics
and maybe I’ll remember the laughing in the hallways,
but we both know your time has come.

I won't hold a grudge, I won’t be mad,
and I promise I won't forget everything you've taught me.
So drift away into my distant memories,
long loved and long remembered.

Loss is a hard emotion to process

Doesn't matter what you’re losing

Be it a phone, a loved one, or in my case, a dog

You might feel guilty about your decisions that led to loss

Or want to give up on everything




My dog was an important part of my life

And she always will be- even if she's not here

Most people believe that when you die, your gone,

I believe that even if I can’t  see her, though, Kelly is there

She’d follow my mom about, keeping her company



And lick my face, telling me about her day

And in the real world, I would strain

Strain against the divide,  trying to see my dear friend

And even if I won't ever see you again

You'll stay with me and I will stay with you,



Until the end.
 

I have grown up inside these walls. There is not a day I remember in which bells did not chime around me, cars did not crawl by in miles of traffic, salespeople did not push themselves against passerby. This is the city my family was placed in at the beginning of time, and it is where I will stay. We are the city people, and that is that. I have heard murmurings of outside communities, ones whose land is free, ones whose land is trees, ones whose lives are on boats. But they do not matter. Never once will I have to leave this serene, unwavering land of peace, never once will I meet the people of alternating races. My sea of brown is all I need. In school we are taught not to question the ways our food is gathered, not to question where the water comes from. So until I was fourteen, I did not know the power of our government.

I did not know how we stripped the trees from the green people.

You promised me galaxies, My Love.
You promised to cradle my head to your chest,
to hold my outstretched arms,
While the sunlight danced between our fingertips,
Sparking upwards towards its cloud-laden home:
The home which you promised me.

They say dreams are for children,
So call me a child.
But know that I was made a child by you, My Love.
The pupils of my eyes did dilate and fill
With the Milky Way of your beauty.

You took me, not by the hand but by the heart,
And showed me all of your constellations
While I charted them
In the skies you promised to take me to.

So why am I laying in the grass alone
Staring up into you?
Why am I laying on the Earth alone
Bathed in only the shadows of your moonlight.

You loved all of my labors,
But would not labor to love me.
For who would pick a star from the dust
When there are 100 billion awaiting in the dusk.