If I could,

Be myself,

In this unforgiving world.

Because I should,

Feel warmth of self,

Instead of cold judgment sold.




If I could,

Speak my mind,

With no fear of retribution.

Because I would,

Let nothing bind,

Me to a mold of regulation.




If I could,

Cry my fears away,

So that I’m not,

Hiding in my hood.

So they don’t say,

I’m weaker than they thought.  




If I could,

Feel like I’m unique,

Instead of another clone.

I want to have stood,

Apart from the bleak,

Sameness that makes me alone.







If I could,

Be seen as equal,

As normal, As beautiful, As loving.

I would be good,

With a sequel, 

the same way now as it used to when i was seven but didn’t know it.

it fits like a poor man’s key in palace gates.

fifteen is less than the amount of types of headaches i’ve identified,
screwdriver & orbit & sour milk & throb. . .

i am not fifteen,
but whatever i don’t say at the breakfast table
between sips of orange juice.

i am a spine willowed with misty sleep,
an eroded crescent on my left shoulder. 

infatuation and observation,
doubt and deliberation.

i am knowing i can be so much more
than the floor of a 70s style bathroom & its ugly wallpaper,

and 

i would rather be a thousand things
before fifteen.

I am the one who takes long walks in the rain when rumbling thunder rolls in, walking through quaint puddles, dancing through the ones that seemed to eat up more and more of the sidewalk, as more and more rainfall soaks the already satisfied soil. I like many others, find joy in sailing the seas, the salty air, raving waves and the sound of the harboring boats soothe me. The cawing of crows with their gallant black feathers reminds me of when I’d sit for hours, and ponder on the swing set near home during fall. Watching the purest of blue skies fade into a picture-perfect sunset. Ruffling the leaves. Quiet crunch underfoot, as I climb the hill leading back home. I bleakly mutter the rhyme my mother had once taught me, the one I had used to wish many wishes upon that first sparkling star that dotted the sky. I had once loved how the snow sprinkled down, each little snowflake, each one sophisticated and quite cold. 

This is me, long blond hair doesn't like to stop moving always traveling in the winter for gymnastic meets or when I am not traveling at school with my friends or at the gym practicing with my teammates and working my hardest do be the best me. But yet to me even though I never stop moving I like to do art. But when I do art I am still moving in ways but the best part of me is the part my friends have made me my friends tell me that I am supportive and loving but that is just who I am but one of the ways my friends have shaped me is to go out of my comfort zone and that is what I think is special about me. Also I think people doubt that girls are strong but believe me I am a lot stronger than I look.