To be young is to feel the grass growing beneath your feet

And wander through the woods aimlessly

To see the little, quiet things unnoticed by all else

And say,

I saw something beautiful today.

And did you know that birds have wings that make them fly?

And feathers are what make them float?

And that their bones are light as dandelion seeds, blown into the wind to make a wish upon.

To grow older is to forget the vines creeping up your wall,

To only see that they have grown too tall.

Stop thinking about the words between pages, and instead of clocks whose hands are always moving

With the time that never stops

And goes a little too slow but a little too fast all at once

I didn’t see the birds that flew above my head, because I was too busy wishing I could fly just as they could.

To be old is to wonder where it all went

Years wasted, perhaps, on things that never really mattered

But now, you notice the flowers growing in the spring

Wishing you had seen them always.

And did you notice the bird sitting upon the railing?

It has wings that make it fly

Feathers to float

And bones light as dandelion seeds, drifting up into the sky.

I think I might drown

From the weight on my shoulders

Expectations,

Hopes,

Dreams.

I want to meet them

I need to meet them

The lines are hazy

I can’t see clearly

I don’t know what’s good for me

And I don’t care

I can’t stop

I don’t matter,

Only my goals do

I’m going too fast

Colors are blurring

I’m hearing sounds I can’t make out,

Running

Through the foggy horizon

Voices call out,

Telling me I need to do more

Be better

Stay on top of everything

And for once,

I stop.

For once,

I open up,

Letting someone take my burden

I don’t feel like I’m giving up

I don’t feel ashamed

I don’t feel like I failed

I feel lighter,

Happier

And I wish I had done it sooner.

Dirt road, springtime

Air wet with snow

Evaporating,

Roads soft,

Like new petals.

Girl, brown hair

Pony tail

Chocolate eyes

Kissing at the corners

Running shoes,

A year and a half old

Black with a pink stripe.

Soft steps, soft mud

Winding road

From the white clapboards

And new painted blue window frames

And old yellow adirondack chairs

Down the valley.

Dog on the porch

Of the house down the road

Yellow clapboards

He guards the hibernating garden

With his black eyes

Like starry night skies.

Long steps

Following

The rhythm of endless playlists

In her earbuds.

Barking,

Louder than the playlists,

Past the earbuds.

She slips them out into

Her pocket

Steps slower

Smaller,

Pausing.

His steps bounce

Off the porch

Curls flying

Water flying

Mud flying

Towards her

He slows,

Circles her rubs his paws

To her legs.

Chestnut,

C’mere.

Sorry ‘bout him,

I should bring ‘im in,

Shouldn’t I?

The lady calls

From the green door,

White hair

Piled up with a pink clip.

The dog stays

Rubbing the girls leg,

Starry night eyes saying

You won’t make me leave.

Chestnut,

Let’s go bud,

Pink black shoes and curly muddy paws

Padding in the mud

To the door.

Sorry ‘bout that

It’s alright,

Pink and black shoes rock

Back

Forth

He’s sweet,

Thanks, and thanks for

Bringing her back.

The dog stays

Curled, unfurling

Slowly not wanting to leave

The girl’s side

Are you the girl 

From down the street?

Yeah,

I’m Becca.

Rock back

Forth

I’m Susan.

Hopefully I’ll see you around.

Flat feet.

You too.

Smile.

Feeling my soft shoes 

Impacting the ground

My calves and my lungs,

Burning from effort 

But it feels so good

Because even though 

I’m confined to this 

One house, this one town

With the same people

I feel like I can 

Go places, or fly

With every step and

Push off the asphalt

I feel free, or calm.

So I guess, for me,

Being calm is not

A place or a thing,

But movement, and sports.

& it was the tensest last period class I've ever been in. Well, for me, at least,

and maybe only for me - when the announcement came on to secure

the school, no going outside, continue as normal,

the classroom erupted with noise, everyone joking

& faking scared like this wasn't the most awful moment of their life.

I sat there for another half hour, crossing my fingers

that we'd be able to go home on time. And there it was,

at dismissal the loudspeaker beeped and we were off

into the slow afternoon rain. At this point the rumors

were clustering around each other & nobody had really heard

the details anyways so everything was a jumble of confusion

as we scattered across the wet pavement to the buses;

I promised to text when I got home & waved goodbye to my friends.

The bus turned

the corner and I pressed my head to the window

coated with raindrops & washed in the blue light

of faraway sirens, and all the way home I prayed. I prayed for the safety

of my friends, of my family, of myself. I prayed the people involved

made it home alive. I prayed for the homeless man on the corner,

that he would go unnoticed by everyone wishing to harm.

I prayed for the children in detention centers, for their parents,

for the hopeful return of them to the world. I prayed

even for the soldiers in bulletproof vests,

holding guns,

so someday they could wipe the illusion from their eyes. I prayed

as I walked through the hastening drizzle. 

I prayed as I stepped through the door. I prayed

for the hope & the courage for a better world

because nobody should ever have to sit silently in a classroom

not knowing what's going to happen next. No child should ever have to walk

home in the rain praying for what was already promised.

No one should ever have to say out loud that nobody should live like this.

There's this random office building across the Cinemark downtown.
Sometimes, when I go there,
I'll watch a dumb movie at the theater,
Then tiptoe past glass windows of desk workers.
And if I'm with my friends, I might laugh at them,
Whiling away behind a screen
While we're over here, doing whatever the hell we want.
When I'm alone, though, I might sympathize with them---
I feel tired just looking at their rat-raced faces.

After we sneak past the office, we might go to the parking garage behind that.
Or I might, depending on the day.
Then, I climb up the creepy, cobweb-filled stairwell
Illuminated by the occasional yellowing lightbulb.
After sprinting up the stairs, our quads burning, panting,
We make it to the roof.

There's a random tennis court in the corner, but it's locked.
If I'm with my friends, we climb on top of the generator and hop the fence of the court,
Just for the thrill of it,
Even though none of us have tennis rackets,
Or have even played tennis before.

If I'm alone, I just hang my legs off the edge of the building,
Facing the highway and the office in front of it
Watching the hurried taillights of Hondas and Acuras on the I-10
Go somewhere no one will ever care about.

I'll probably breathe in the air, which is crisp when you're so high up.
Then, I'll look again at the office workers.
Back curled, staring soullessly into their computers,
Calculating stock or whatever it is adults do there.

My heart sort of twinges, then.
They've worked their whole lives to get to this point
Of mind-numbing slavery.

And I look at the Houston skyline
And foolishly, youthfully,
Am glad as hell that I'm not them.

I am a thinker.

I think about big problems in the world and how to fix them.

Like climate change, evolution, the state of humanity as of now.

I write stuff down, half-finished thoughts scribbled, or typed on the page.

I think of ways we can solve these problems. Then I feel small. I get questions stuck in my head.

Who cares? How could this paper make a difference? I'm 15 what can I do?

Then I think about all of the people who are already fighting for some of the things I am thinking about. 

And that gives me hope to keep going. 

To try to make a difference.