Reid@YWP

You 

love me 

fast, miss me 

faster, I ran to 

you, now running away takes 

much longer. To get to you  

Is this really what it means to be American? 

To say: Only certain people can be who they are. 

To start wars. 

To cause pain. 

To put others beneath you. 

Family wears many faces— 

For some, it’s warmth and comfort, 

For others, it’s silence or storm. 

Often, we search for it in strangers, 

Bound not by blood, 

But by soul. 

They were surrounded by the buzz of their counterparts moving in ripples controlled by the wind, yet they stood still. Two blades in a meadow. They need not be found, rescued, or saved. An unspoken companionship kindled by Mother Nature.

If only I could hug

The stars;

Perhaps I could shatter them

And cup the shards

In my palms,

The cracks constellations

Aligning with my veins,

But that isn’t close enough