Sep 18

Notorious RBG (You Are Still Here)

I don’t know what to say.
Rest In Peace sounds so hollow being typed on my phone’s keyboard.
You’ll never know how we mourned you
Now that you’re
You’ll never know how it all ended,
What happens to the world now that you’re
I wrote your life down on a piece of paper last spring
And it still slipped away.
Somehow I thought you’d still be there the day I died,
Putting on your lace collars
And dissenting.
I’m not qualified to sing your praises,
But thank you for everything you ever did.
Thank you for doing something that made us cry now that you're
I hope maybe
You caught a glimpse of what we would do
Without you
Somehow, some way,
But the truth is
You made me realize
Just as you were leaving
How little time we have
To stay.
I don’t know what to say.
I should have thanked you while you were still here
To listen.
Sep 17

Exit Card

"Sometimes I feel a little breathless." 

Ocassionally, when the sky
gives way to smoke I am: spread starfish
on my bed, fingers tapping,
circulating something I should've said or done in my head.  

Is it always like this? 
Must I always pretend not to breathe?

Last night I gave myself to the Road to Nowhere. 
I flailed around my golden room- I let myself become warm with dancing. 

Sometimes, when I'm stuck the best thing to do is manufacture freedom. 
Sometimes, I feel like it will never come. 

Today, I met a boy. 
I wanted him to ask me my name.
I wanted him to look at me, really look
and tell me what he saw. 

When was the last time you did that for yourself?
When was the last time you didn't need anyone else to tell you who you are? 
Sep 16


People run around
Like a divine intervention
Will save you from 
The darkest days.
But all the people found
The same thing. Have I mentioned
That running inspires
The chase?

So they say

La la little ladybug,
You don’t have to worry about it.
Take my hand and gain my trust,
Then put it back right where you found it.

Well maybe Earth’s amnesiacs
Could tell me what it seems you can’t.
It’s easier to know the facts but
You say I wouldn’t understand. 

La la little ladybug,
You don’t have to worry about it.
Take my hand and gain my trust,
Then put it back right where you found it.

Sometimes I miss the sound
Of your ostracization 
That ended up
In broken plates.
"Turn your darling frown
Upside down, good intentions
Will take the pain away."

Then you said

La la little ladybug,
Sep 15


Sep 14

My final thought at night

The first minute is
the hardest
when the light dims
and you feel 
in the chill
when the covers
are cold
and melting
and everything
is moving
because the 
night can breathe
if you let it
Sep 13
eulusivepurplepanda's picture

Sonnet to concrete

What comes after Winter’s fearful whip? 
Tell, what gives sway to summer scented sage? 
To what gives imagination’s muses blush? 
The forest’s bloom green, the bee’s nectar rush? 

What book can tell? Aye, what poet can say? 
My naked toes, pressed on what Earth has sung. 
Burning from the warmth, on which Sun has hung 
Her shooting fires to make human pyres! 

‘Tis not the thrush, nor the greenery that 
Gives summer sway, ‘tis the flat concrete stair,  
Mirroring Earth’s light, book pages that glare 
Soft white, too harsh for mine own squinting eyes.
Sep 12
poem 2 comments challenge: CJP-Fire

Moths aflame

"California is on fire"
We are moths aflame

gold coins spill from our tongues
soaking all the sunshine until skies are gray

a politician's dead eyes watch
orange skies in San Francisco, unfeeling

the fires stole the mountains, the smoke the horizon
but you, fish eyes, you stole the security of my home

we are Esau's, who will go down as fools
for selling a birthright for diamonds and doubloons

villains the moment we renounced nature
to become Midas instead

my home is a prison that reeks of smoke,
the AC on while we freeze underwater

how long will we wait, will you wait?
until the ash taints your golden tongue?

I beg you, I warn you
that California is just the tip of a matchstick

yes, suffering brings a nation together
but if you cared, don't let us die so

there are babies just being born,
Sep 10

Rules for the 2020 middle schooler

1. It doesn't matter what mask you're wearing. But... WEAR ONE.
2. When inside, hand sanitizer is god. Worship it.
3. When outside, it's perfectly normal to be about two feet apart. With no mask on. (Hey, there's fresh air, right?)
4. It's no longer rude to surreptitiously scoot away from someone who's too close for comfort (or just someone you don't like... but keep it surreptitious.)
5. Your teachers will continually comment on how new everything is for them. This is another way of saying please be nice to us, we're surviving on coffee alone. (But also, yay teachers. Thanks guys.)
6. You can't whisper in class anymore, because no one can tell you're whispering. It's easy to forget that the most expressive part of your face is hidden, so be prepared to ask and be asked "what??" about 15 times a day.
7. It's actually pretty easy to tell if someone is smiling, but you never know. Be nice.

Sep 10

Remote Learning

School is coming and everyone is suddenly busy. Wrap up the summer homework, stroll through Target’s Back To School section and check the school roster. Summer is gone, along with the lazy mornings and late wake-up times. You can hear the thud as an alarm clock is placed on your bedside table and papers flipped as syllabus’ are read over. When you wake up in the morning, you linger around lazily, still in the summer state of mind, and slowly get ready for school. You get in the car and, when you get to school, you see your friends. You laugh and chat about idle subjects, and slowly adjust as you ease into the school state of mind. This is the routine of a normal school starting.
Sep 08

Shoulder to Shoulder

I saw you today,
standing there.
No, farther back, six feet away.
You looked nice.
Your flowing dress, your blue suit.
I waved hello.
Wide, slowly, so you could see it from your distance.
You need glasses. You keep squinting. 
And we had a conversation.
You and me.
Speaking. In a three dimensional space.
I saw the shadows on your face,
the curves of your cheeks,
your voice not cutting in and out from the internet,
only the wind carrying away the last bit.
What was the last part?
And we laughed, you and I, 
in this three dimensional space,
the one I forgot existed for awhile, 
at whatever struck us funny at that moment.
You got taller.
You got shorter.
...Glad to see you nimrod. 
Glad to see you too, bean pole.
It's not like I could create this moment with a screen,
this wonderful speck of time
in pictures and pixels.
Sep 08
Kittykatruff's picture

Cup of coffee (I should go to bed)

inspiration is
my morning cup
of coffee.

who needs caffeine
when you're scrambling for pen and paper
as the words rush rush rushrushrush out--

well, truthfully, it's never in the morning
(I can barely function before 10 am)
it's always around midnight,
as the stars dance outside the window,
suddenly a phrase comes to life--

I might need a cup of coffee
in the morning
writing keeps me up
all night...
Sep 05
ZoeBee's picture


It just felt off
Like freezing broth
Or clothes that just don't fit quite right
Flashes in the dead of night
Like wearing a corpse's underthings
A box of widows' wedding rings 
A whale that beached itself to die
A strangely troubled baby's cry
It may be dark, but I have a hunch
Conformation is waiting to make me its lunch
Sep 04


I let the lavender plant die.

It wilted,
then it dried
and it withered,
then it died.

I got sick of my clothes smelling like
your perfume,
wine red satin sheets that remind
me of your shampoo.

There’s no Hallmark movie about us,
but I bet a wrinkled $5 it’s coming soon.
They’ll leave out the ending though, 
because breaking is just not the right "mood"

It's a shame,
you know,
that you wear
lavender perfume.
Sep 03
poem 6 comments challenge: Sunset

Blushing shadows

it was night, and she crept along the edge of insanity
wondering when she would fall.

tapping lights that flicker on and off
inside my chest
and now i sit writing
wondering if i will ever have the same rush again

i've seen pink fade to grey to blue to black
to all of the impossible things in the world that are the sweet taste of freeness
because the sun had faded away and we were left with our hands outstretched

the cold of the shower, her hands felt the droplets fling themselves onto the creases
and like tears, they were fleeting and fast
more, more, more of the magical

because at sunset all things burn into my pupils
at sunset i am left twirling until the moutain spins in front of me
doing cartwheels until i am rushed with love
and me, just me.
just me and sunset.

the lightness of shadows crept forward, 
Sep 03

Unsilenced words

A day at school,
a boy who remains quiet,
sits at his desk,
awaiting the other kids,
who choose to hurt.

They approach him,
spitting bitter words that people have heard,
and the boy stays silent.

He wants to stand up,
he wants to become bigger than them,
better than them,
and he wants to yell.

He wants to yell the unknown,
unsilenced words,
that are small but mighty.

He wants them to stop,
but the boy refuses to hurt anyone.

So when he gets home that night,
he thinks about all of the words that
have gone astray,
the ones that have been buried,
walked upon,
and simply,
so very simply,
the child takes their silence away.

At school the next day,
the boy watches kids appear at his desk,
but he doesn't stay down.

He stands up,
and before they are able to say anything,
the boy begins to yell
Sep 02
Yellow Sweater's picture

The Effect of Social Media and Covid on Our Perception of Time.

Our brains are sculpted by the eras and cultures in which they were formed, therefore we have vastly different ways of processing contemporary experience. But it seems to me that with Covid and the rapid development of the internet, future generations are going to have a very different experience of something even as fundamental as time. In an era where a meme counts as an argument, it seems like the correlation between time and ideas might become warped. I have noticed that, in my own life, time has been moving at a peculiar pace. The lack of change in my day to day life has turned the past six months into a single extended moment. This experience has given me a very visceral notion of time’s malleability. I wonder how the near instantaneous, pictorial, symbolic method of communication that characterizes the direction modern language is headed, will effect a child who grows up emersed in it.
Sep 01
poem 2 comments challenge: General
ZoeBee's picture


I know you'll forget
but I have to tell you soon
that I love you
as the barren limbs of treetops
long to caress the moon
Sep 01


Excerpts from my journal:

August 30.

And like that, the storm has passed. The morning is ever clear and gorgeous, yet it is by far the windiest one I have seen on Reservation. The wind - as it is back home in Johnson - drowns out all thoughts and drives with force into every concieveable space outside. 

Aug 31
aary.writes's picture

Losing yourself to fit in

So many times

there are 

a spectrum of models

and forms

we have to fit into 
when these molds

try to break us down

we begin to lose ourselves
know that

you will meet people

who are like you
who like and dislike

the same things as you

and who accept you
know that you will find hobbies

and places

where you will meet people you love

to be around

who don’t ask you to fit into pre-made molds
know that you’re perfect

the way you are

and that you don’t have to change yourself

for others to respect you 

Aug 29

Stress Jenga

There is a pile of worries
on my back
that I carry around

They collect there
every day
as different situations arise
adding new stress
to my supply

They pile up
and they hold me back
tying me down
leaving me helpless

And some days I crack
and the whole stack