Coco

I come here to

express myself

semi-anonymously,

but freely

and happily.

My laptop is

bombarded with

tabs, one of which

is YWP.

Always.

I may not

write a poem

Throwing stones in glass houses

Makes cracks that can be removed

Taken down and restored

But that does not mean there was no damage to begin with.

You matter.

Not in a pastel poster sort of way. Not in a science teacher’s dad-joke shirt sort of way.

In a rain drop sort of way.

The rain drops don’t need to be there

Not all of them

For it to be raining.

Introduction: I’m writing a story that hopefully never comes true. I recently read Orwell’s 1984, and I saw some disturbing similarities to today’s United States under the Trump administration.

Cold, unforgiving wind batters against my patchwork coat as I shove my way through crowded streets. Tiny snowflakes glitter on my eyelashes and my breath freezes as soon as it hits the air.

Octopuses have three hearts. I’ve been told that I do too. Is it the way I look at you or the way I listen? Is it how I place my hand on your shoulder or how I smile?