Poetry

I was so quiet then, 

standing all alone against the concrete wall 

in ill fitting jeans

with an awkward bob made of my soft blonde hair. 

I listened instead of speaking

How can you say that you are a provider of justice?

You pledge loyalty to sin like it's a hobby 

just to turn around with a cross in hand

and sickly smile in the next.

So explain to me how you should get to decide

I wasn’t

Sure.

Not one hundred percent.

I knew I wanted it

But I wasn’t prepared last time

We weren’t ready last time

I’m surprised I was ready this time.

But I was -

We were.

I choose pain.

We gossip all the time. 

Shaping somebody, 

to what they aren't. 

When rumors emerge 

between shadows 

we change who somebody is 

No.

No, no, no, no!

It can't be December,

not yet.

Because just a minute ago, 

we were going back to school shopping.

And now we're almost halfway through the year?

It doesn't make sense.

I thought I was an extrovert- 

I'm not. 

I can't talk to somebody unless they approach me first.

 So I don't correct when somebody says something that's wrong, 

I can only wish to check off something from my

endless lists that create the illusion of success.

What will it be today?

My week old math homework due in the next hour

or adding another item to my list?

I'm lost in little infinities,

in stars that multiply the longer I look,

I lose count of what's real and what's not,

unsure when the endless stream of numbers concludes,

Because how do we even get to .1 or .01

Shadows dance on the names we wear, 
hiding our true feelings deep down in our pockets. 
Hearing each other's footsteps as you walk downstage, 
sounds strangely nice. 

“You’re a jerk”

“You’re the worst sister in the world”

“I hope I never see your face”

“Stop moming me”

Every time I reply with 

I love you too

I’m a jerk

I do your chores

How could I

when will it be my turn 

when will it be my turn to be loved 

when will it be my turn to be told i'm everything to someone 

when will it be my turn to feel pretty, otherworldly, stunning

You know what we are?

We’re caged birds.

Birds trapped in a gilded cage.

They try to take away our freedom.

But will we let them?

What’s your answer to that?

We can’t let them.

But we already have.