Sometimes I want to
check my luggage and leave it
forever unclaimed.
May 25, 2016
May 25, 2016 at 10:58 AM UTC
Red dirt haunts the bottom of your boots
All of your curiosity cannot be contained in one suit
You will do the things most men dream of.
You will colonize a land unknown.
I asked you what your dream was
And you said you wanted to go to the stars above
Apparently Mars has always been your dream home
You want to colonize that red speck in the sky
And believe me, I know how good you can colonize
I mean you’ve already taken over my heart
Your footprints will stay there even if we were to part
Your words are more treasured artifacts in my chest
And so far I think I like them better than the rest
Stay on my planet for as long as you need to
I will help you here until Mars needs you
Use my poems as your rocket fuel
Keep them with you until they are useless
Let my hands be your shelter
Make my mind your control center
I will be whatever you need me to
Even after you’ve blasted off into the blue.
May 25, 2016
May 25, 2016 at 10:52 AM UTC
I saw all the space
and every corner that would
be haunted by you.
May 23, 2016
May 23, 2016 at 5:10 PM UTC
The spaces between
our heartbeats & hands narrow
whenever I see you.
May 19, 2016
May 19, 2016 at 12:11 PM UTC
Why did I fall in
love with every single smile
thrown my way tonight?
May 18, 2016
May 18, 2016 at 11:00 AM UTC
All it takes is one
gesture of love once a day
for the rest of days.
May 17, 2016
May 17, 2016 at 10:25 AM UTC
I don’t trust most teachers
Not because they give us homework or test
But because they claim to be our guide
To help us in school and life
They practically beg us to come to them
But when someone finally gets the courage to ask for help
Teachers laugh them off
Or say they’re too busy
They preach lies and expect us to accept it
They are so filled with self-pride
That they can’t see the pain they bring to others
Too many kids have left classes crying
Feeling as though they aren’t worth anything
Because when they turn stuff in
The teacher looks at it
And hands it back with a smile and says
It’s not worth a grade
Teachers are meant to be examples
But I can’t trust a single word that comes out their mouths
You don’t wanna be here
I don’t wanna be here
So why make us both suffer
Teachers deceive students into thinking they care
They’ll stay after school to “help you”
But once the going actually gets tough they bounce
Why would us students ever trust a liar like that?
I’m still waiting for all their pants to catch on fire
Don’t tell me I’m too young to be upset
How would you feel if all you’ve known for 12 years was a lie?
My words and feelings are important
But teachers have trained us to believe other wise
I don’t understand why you want us to be this way
Maybe because it’s too much fun to see our smiles fall to the ground
Rather than raising them up to the sun
I’m not asking for the moon and the stars
Just peace and a smile
Too many days I want to cry
When the bell rings before that one class
Because that class doesn’t have a lesson plan
It has a plan for destruction
Counting the smiles that walk in
And the tears that storm out
Now don’t get it twisted
There are some good teachers out there
Maybe one or two
But you and I both know the bad outweighs the good
Sometimes the darkest hole of despair is more comfortable
Than these beige brick walls
I rather be alone
Then be surrounded by enemies I am not allowed to fight back
So if you ask me why I don’t trust these teachers
It’s because my momma always told me
Never believe anyone that smiles in your face
And tells you a bold face lie
May 13, 2016
May 13, 2016 at 5:33 PM UTC
When I was five years old and first stepped into a classroom I had lint and skittles and hope stuffed into my pockets. My firsts clutched at them so hard that when they made us shake hands with one another I extended a rainbow palm to my partners. They gawked at it for a second and then took my hand and we were stuck together with a bond that only innocence and sugar can provide.
When we were kids we built our trust out of sticks and stones--a bond that would come to be stronger than sugar and innocence and hope--you would lead us through waters we were not sure we could wade yet.
In 7th grade the spaces between hallways and classrooms are where I learned that silence breeds intolerance and apathy. Our trust was no longer built on sticks and stones, but on those moments when we chose not to be silent--when we were thankful that someone said anything to us at all because life only ever matters when you know you exist.
And so I will write you letters so that you know that I see you.
Dear Girl In Class That Listens to Boys Making **** Jokes,
I see you. I see those boys too. And they will see me when I reach down their throats where the hate they spew lives tell them that I will not meet their intolerance with tolerance.
I’ll probably get a phone call from mom.
Dear Boy In Class Who Changes All Of the Pronouns In His Poems Because He’s Scared Of The Students Around Him,
I see you, I see those edits you make too. You’re beautiful and so are your words. Stop making bad edits.
Dear Boy In Class Who Thinks Gay Is A Synonym For Stupid
I know that all hate is learned and that you learned that this was okay because no one ever told you it wasn’t. I’m telling you now. Stop.
Dear Students In Class Who Are Afraid To Speak Up
I’m writing this poem for you. I want you to take this poem with you when you leave. Turn it over in your mind like the cool side of a pillow when you lay down to sleep. Let it support your head and your dreams.
Repeat it like a prayer so that these words will stick in your mind, even when I’m not there: Just because school is a weapon free zone does not mean that you leave your mind, your heart, your thoughts, your questions, your voice at home.
Take this poem and place it beneath your feet. Stand on it, use it to meet your adversaries at eye level every time they try to look down on you.
Let this poem catch you when they try to blast you back with backwards rhetoric.
Use this poem as a shield--hold the words around you so that when the world tries to drop bombs on you you’ll be able to appreciate the beat.
Keep it like a secret and when you’re alone and writing and the words are stuck in the ink of your pen remember that poetry doesn’t come from words, it comes from a willingness to love and to be loved. I know this because the first poem I ever heard was when my mother held my head in her lap and told me the only Spanish I would ever remember--todo para la familia--everything for the family.
And so I’ll leave those words as a mantra for you and I hope that you’ll understand some day that you don’t need this poem and you can crumple it up and throw it away because your voice matters and even if it’s met with silence, nothing will change that.
To The Teachers That My Students Write Poems About,
Take this poem. Use it as a warning.
My students are better poets than me.
May 10, 2016
May 10, 2016 at 3:27 PM UTC