Imagine being in a place 
that everyone promised was safe, 
yet being chased 
by a weapon 
at the age of only eleven. 

School shootings are too normalized. 
Kids grow up scared and traumatized. 
Grief gets debated, politicized. 
It’ll be on headlines for a day or two, 
and the next day there’s new news, 
like, “Someone decided to shoot, but hey, Adidas made new shoes.” 
A resting place being a school —
the way they treat this situation is so cruel.

No one should have fear of that kind,
being held at gunpoint at the age of five.
All you can hear are screams and cries,
kids texting their parents, “Mom, ILY. Bye.”

And it’s not a one-day thing as well.
You can feel the silence where laughter fell.
Fear sits in every hallway cell.
The silence screams louder than the bell.

From one occurrence, kids are traumatized,
life flashing before their eyes,
questioning if they’ll make it out alive.
No one should have to beg, “Put down the gun,”
their life ending before it’s even really begun.

And I won’t say, “What if it was you,”
because it shouldn’t even be imagined. This isn’t a pain we should have to get used to.
This isn’t normal — it’s true.
Schools are meant to build futures, not undo them.

Because a seven-year-old girl had dreams to be
a princess, grow up, and see
the world. She still believed in the tooth fairy,
but now she rests for eternity.

And “If only they got out faster,” we say.
“We should’ve done drills for more days.”
If only the system protected who it promised to.
Time doesn’t owe her a future — we do.

Dedicated to the many schools on many lands,
and every adult who chose silence over command.
How many children must die before you stand?

new converse, christmas lights strung up til march, arcade pizza glistening with grease, red hair dye, burnt-off fog, rain, i think, or the dew on grass, dark lip stain, tracks in fresh snow, heavy vanilla, old lemon peel, pink ribbons forgotten on the floor, that acid dry-erase tang, notebook paper (college ruled), woodfire smoke, nostalgia, caramel, the bottoms of antique drawers, 0.7 graphite shattered on the page, sriracha sauce, the glitter you wipe from your eyes, three a.m. washed-out dawnings, 

fogged up & thumbprinted 

over & over again

Some people don’t stay

like mountains do.

They arrive like weather —

soft, sudden,

changing the air around you.

They sit beside you

on ordinary days

and somehow

make them glow.

You don’t notice

you’re in the middle of it

while it’s happening.

You just laugh.

You just breathe.

You just exist — lighter.

And then one day

the season shifts.

The chair across from you

is empty again.

The air feels different.

Quieter.

But here’s the strange thing —

the warmth doesn’t leave.

It lingers

in the way you grew,

in the way you learned

how it feels

to be understood

for a while.

Maybe that’s the gift.

Not that they stayed.

But that they were here at all.

As I lie in the warmth,

The sun brushes life with gold.

My soul fills with sounds of laughter, thorns,

but everything feels so cold.

The beautiful water so nice and giving,

the hues of blue, swirling, and dancing,

I open my eyes, looking, seeking,

but all I see is gray.

The beach. My beach.  

Where are the big seagulls squawking and laughing?

Where are the people playing and swimming?

Why is everything gone?

The lemonade and sweet strawberries,

The magical sunset, Mother laughing,

All so faint, all so vague,

All gone with wisps of smoke.

Sometimes when I close my eyes,

I can still feel the salt in the skies, 

The love and sorrow for that beach,

All gone from my grasp and my reach.

I miss when everything used to be simple

when everyone got a cookie

and we didn't have to worry 

about if there was one less

But I did,

because what if another guest came to the tea party?

eventually they told me

but by then it was too late

cause' I was already wondering 

what the answer would be 

if it was -8 and not positive

but when they at last explained 

I was on to the next thing

further and farther away

reaching toward the sky

until cookies turned into letters

and weird greek symbols

Things were never simple

but chocolate chips became stars

and 8 became ∞ 

but maybe,

someday

we can go back

Because as we stare at the constellations,

wondering how they got there

we hold cookies in our hands

wondering how we got here 

Do you feel your head unspooling into the universe?

The strings are fraying at the edges, 

irreparably stained with the stardust at the ends

Of the many worlds you stretch across.

Do you feel your tight-stitched, needle-sharp, double-knotted 

Child's brain falling up, up into the

Twilight, into heaven's most beautiful 

Graveyard, where all the other radiant little minds go to wait?

You can never rewind. 

You can never un-grow up.

Is it wrong 

to want to be a princess?

Is it naive or childish?

Because I want to be in a world where at 16 

I find my prince charming, 

where every year onwards is happily ever after

I want to be the model of beauty and wit and love

with only a few flaws in etiquette

I know it's vain 

but I want be who a little girl wants to be someday

So is it so bad to want to be a princess?

To want to be twirled by the kindest gentleman

while my ball gown spins around me 

and a maid to tell me if my shoes match my shirt

I want to smile and laugh without a care in the world

I want to be beloved by all

I know it's egocentric, 

and ignorant 

to want to be a princess

and think it's all sunshine and rainbows

I know it's foolish and shallow 

But can I just want to be a princess?

pretend to forget the pressure and just spin into a world 

where everyone is happy

and I don't have to worry

can I want to be a princess, just for tonight?

a symphony of saxophone and jazzy drums plays

for a crowd of men in wide collared shirts and women in boxy dresses

in their hands are drinks

martinis and manhattans 

with glistening ice cubes inside their glasses

this dream world smells of cigarette smoke and floral perfume

and exists only when you put on a record

and listen close

when I was young, I wanted to be the girls on the covers of the albums

that played these 60s dreamlike tunes

with catlike eyeliner and carefully styled hair

dressed in colorful clothes 

and adorned in jewelry of rubies, emeralds and sapphires

and maybe diamonds

for I was told they were forever

I wanted to put on one of these records

Henry Mancini's "two for the road" 

or Burt Bacharach's "Alfie" 

and dance with a boy in a tailored suit

to twirl and watch my short pink dress sway as I moved

and hold his hands 

dancing like they did in the movies

now as I listen to these albums, 

alone

I wonder if he'd dance with me 

the boy I always pictured back then

I lie on my couch as the record plays

imagining this moment once more

because in my heart

we'll have that one dance

it'll feel like 1965

we'll be serenaded by saxophone 

and be so deep in love

someday

I hope you will dance with me.