yesterday, two teenage boys in the street
stopped mowing their lawn to whistle at me.
it's kind of nice, being noticed, I guess,
to be seen
but at the same time,
I feel objectified,
like I'm meant to sit on a shelf and be pretty
like they're incapable of looking past my face and seeing me
I'm not a barbie doll.
I'm not a toy.
i'm just fourteen
when will you realize that, boys?

so you hate school?
let's talk.
girls in Kenya walk miles every day
for an education you throw away.
school will take you far in life
are you only good enough for halfway?

look, I know you hate your teacher
and Biology is something you'll never use
Algebra is crazy hard
and it's easy to get confused
but please don't hate school
until you've walked a mile in their shoes.

I walk the halls and sit in class
and all I ever see
are people on their screens
LISTEN UP, PEOPLE!!
It's not about selfies
or popularity ("***!")
its about learning.
"wait, what? IDK."
Yeah, people. you're here to learn.
"LOL! You're a nerd."

if being a nerd means I care
if being a nerd means I listen up and take notes,
if being a nerd means I don't take school for granted,
then yeah, you're right. I'm a nerd.

i cried.
i thought about lauren and sierra,
our KC neighbors,
and how they made those last few years the best.
i thought about how i stopped caring because i stopped writing
and i stopped writing because i stopped caring.
i wish that i had
their family helped my family slow down
and not go to church so much
and realize all the incredible people around us that we forgot to notice because we went to church four times a week.

so i tracked down their father online
because i know where they live
because we were neighbors for two incredible years.
call me creepy, but i tracked them down and sent them a letter.
i can only hope they'll write back
that they still live there
that they remember me
my mind is an arena, filled to the brim
my thoughts are the spectators,
shouting questions, a deafening roar
i breathe deeply and write this poem, the only way i know how to process
and i'll let you know soon.
i love them as people and i don't want to lose touch again.
because when i left i said we'd always be friends
and i want it to be true.
our week-long games of make-believe, our fights, and good cries
i loved every minute and a lump in my throat tells me so.
i'm sorry for the time i yelled at you, it was 90 outside and i was fed up
i'm sorry i didn't write because i thought i didn't care, that i was over you
but i'm not and i'm sorry and i'm done talking and please write back
because i love you as friends and i'm so blessed to have you.

i'm sorry i took you for granted.

I would sing
because I'm good at that
boy, do I have pipes.
but I'm terrified
upon this stage
all of you looking at me
expectantly
Part of me thinks it would be fun
if not for my parents in the audience
looking at me expectantly.
I've never felt at ease
doing it for them.
That open mic keeps standing there
posters, stages, coffee shops
everywhere
but I can't.
I'll try anything but this.

I sometimes feel
as if my parents wish I would perform
like when we watch
'School Of Rock' or 'A Perfect Chord'.

I guess I always thought
it would go away when I got older
but it's MY choice.
I have to decide.
will I lift my voice
or stay stubbornly silent?

Tears pour
from a raw, deep place,
peek out of my eyes,
and slide down my face

Today marks a year,
a year since you left
we said goodbye on April the 6th

and I don't want to cry
each time I think of you
but I think of you a lot

So I take a shaky breath,
I wipe my wet eyes,
find something yellow,
and say goodbye

like a spider,
i weave a web of words
spilling out like
ink from an inkwell
water from a resovoir
soda on white carpet

poetry comes easily,
the words coming naturally
snapping and rolling on paper

i craft an imagining from them
vivid, tangible
let me make you a
palace of words

Walking to the bathroom in Lowe's.
The Lighting Aisle.
A man rounds the corner,
White-haired, Caucasian
"Whoa, how you doin'?"

Stunned, I barely register,
but turn my eyes down and hurry on.

Only later do I remember
the way his eyes traveled my body,
the way his words felt
like I felt nothing at all
Only later do I process,
what a disgusting perv!

At an art festival that night
I find myself watching every man around me
Panicking in a pizza place bathroom

Later, thinking on it,
I am angry.
I should have screamed and made a fuss
but I turned my eyes down and hurried on.
Why am I always silent when the time comes?