Reid@YWP

They show me their phones, little boxes with even tinier little boxes that you press on and it fills up the big box. My girl taps one of the tiny boxes, it's purple and white and orange and she calls it in-sta-gram.

cold gray book return

nibbles, tastes, laps up books - wait -

spits them right back out.

I drum

beating the small snare with my power

I may be small

but I am the loudest in the band

the base is thunder crashing

the snare is the rain slamming to the earth

i don't care about the comments, 

about my hair and my clothes. 

i don't care what they say, 

about my parents, and my home.  

i don't care about my books, 

My fingers weave my hair into a braid

Twisting in the experiences I’ve faced:

The “girliness” insults

That say I’m not delicate enough,

The jokes about how I look,