14 years old


  • Mauve

    Mauve is the lipstick we stole from your mother,

    smeared sideways across your mouth and all over

    your Sprite bottle,

    a clandestine weight in your pocket 

    as we hurried home across the dew-slick grass.


  • hummingbird girl

    She's hidden, cowering in the corner,

    as she waits, mouth open,

    words frozen on her lips.

    She does not speak.

    I mold my sadness into poetry and she watches me,

    amber eyes taking in everything and nothing.

  • Medicine

    The wood is lush and dappled with light, 

    the first April flowers poking out of the ground, snow

    melting under my bare feet. 

    The ache of you digs into my chest like a sharpened blade,

  • An audition

    when she sang, she sang a rhapsody

    tender words that arced across the room on golden strings

    like her un-brushed curls that flew in the wind

    from the open window behind her.

  • the last day of march

    Mud mingling with snow mingling with dirt,

    the remnants of red nail polish from 

    Valentine's Day,

    how has it lasted so long? 

    The sun a hot fiery ball over the cloud-speckled horizon,

  • Good news

    I don't want the cold hallways,

    their chill seeping underneath 

    my thin regulation gown and settling in my bones.

    I don't want the nurses,

    with their tight, sympathetic smiles