Reid@YWP

If I were 

a bird for an hour,  

what fate 

might await 

me? 

Would I go so high, 

be one with the sky 

or 

would I be slain 

The mangled materials that make us are not defined by the components,

they are not defined by the ideas or the movements.

They are what they are,

pieces to create a greater whole.

We both have short hair,

We could probably measure the inches,

Down to the centimeters, and the millimeters,

And it'd be the same length. 

I saw you today

And it felt like forever. 

Your eyes are like a poet's,

Everything fades when you're around

And I need you to know it. 

fall isn't what you think it is.

fall isn't

pumpkin spice lattes and

smoky bonfires and

cinnamon candles and

your new maroon woolly cardigan that was on sale for

Thanksgiving or Halloween or whatever

I was anxious in theater class. I was talking at Wren, my theater friend of a couple months, blabbing tirelessly on about some kids' book I liked.