Posts
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Fictional Love
I want that feeling
The thing in books
In movies
The fictional love
The one I dream about
The one that I see online
The one I read about
I want not just the butterflies
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1920 days
192o days
Until the next election
Each day a struggle
1920 days of living
In this place
How many laws and bills can be made
In this place
How many people can get hurt
How many people will cry
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34
34
An even number
A prime number
2
17 times
I can't count it on one hand
Not on two
Not even with my toes
And with a list of 34 felonies
We still elect
Him
A convicted felon
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My Little Sister
My little sister
Only 7 years old
Innocent
And yet strong willed
She will grow up
In this country
With this president
This person who calls himself
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Results
Results
In a country that was once blue
It is now red
It is now scary
Results
Flood in
From different states
Battleground states
Is there blood there?
Results
Determine our country
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Tonight
I will not sleep tonight
I will worry and fret
About the outcome
Of this election
This election
Will either be a blessing
Or a curse
For the next 4 years
I will not stop thinking
Loves
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the key to me
my heart is locked,
and i'm keeping it for you.
the chain wrapped around it
still remains from the last time
it shattered.
i build up my mountains,
and my defenses in my mind.
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Australia
At school we draw in the margins of our notebook paper
and toy with the idea of moving to Australia.
We look up the latest news in between classes, knowing that
the teachers will think we're addicted to our phones.
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After the fifth day of November
note: partially inspired by Mary Oliver's "Wild Geese"
and for my mom
i want you to sit and stare at the glistening horizon.
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Trapped
I hear about all the things he does,
But what can I do?
Signs,
Bumper stickers,
Voices,
Celebrate the end.
For democracy,
Our country,
Ukraine,
the LGBTQIA2+ community,
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Mundane
a lesbian couple on my bus home from school
a man in a punk battle jacket on the street
my mother's female CEO group chat blowing up
four of my teachers taking the following day off
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We Cannot Be Stopped
She wrote until her fingers carved groves in the silence and spoiled the blankness before. Then, she turned to each surface left unwrote and sang. The birch trees wept as she tore back the bark to reveal stories beneath.