Breathe deep
For the infant you cannot keep
Breathe deep
Breathe deep for the things you cannot grasp with your hands or even your heart
Breathe deep
God is closest to the brokenhearted
And though you cannot see this one through
God is doing a work in you
Your heart will heal
He has not forgotten you, far from it.
Breathe deep.

what if we changed the definition of beauty
to something actually beautiful
something more than your typical
blue eyes, blonde hair mold
what if the definition of 'beautiful'
meant every shape, size, and skin tone
what if every girl was beautiful too?
what if, in advertising,
we showed more diversity, pody positivity,
so that every girl loved her looks?
what if we changed the rules,
stopped going by the books,
and decided for ourselves what beauty is?
what if we changed it
to something actually beautiful
something more than your typical
blue-eyed, blonde-haired mold?
what if 'beautiful' meant
every size, shape, and skin tone
what if we decided for ourselves what beauty is?
what if, instead of body-shaming each other,
we would teach one another
the value of our bodies
that you are beautiful too

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?

So what if girls exceed your expectations?
Why do we have to dress 'holy'
in skirts that give us limitations?
We have chests. We have hips.
How long we have to apologize
for the features that God gave us?
Why are our girls
Beat down, held back,
So all the men can look greater?
Does it make them feel powerful
To push her down, sedate her?
Does it make them feel powerful
To keep their women
As second-class citizens?
Dress codes: knees covered.
Social code: Seen, not heard.
Aren't we the reason you're all here?
Why do you make her dim her strengths
For all the men to shine brighter?

If girls have to dress 'holy'
Because boys 'can't control themselves',
Why not teach the boys
to keep their hands where they belong?

She embodied the force of the wind.
The wildest rivers ran through her veins.
She was persistent, growing in the unlikeliest of places.
She longed to belong.
Her soul was hardened but soft beneath
She grew in the soil, dark and wet and difficult,
But she learned to fly on the wind.
She became a seed with a wandering heart.
She learned to live outside of the darkness she came from.
She learned to grow her wings and she taught herself to be free.

I invited you
But you stood me up and
time
passes
s l o w e r
When I'm alone

In this season of life where you feel like you belong nowhere, know this:
It will not always be like this.
You will not always feel alone.
Someday, your season of transition will be over and you will feel settled somewhere
One day you will have friends and you will be happy.
One day you will have a place where you belong.
Life will never be perfectly easy for you but each mountain you climb will be smaller than the last,
Like dominoes falling down, things will fall into place for you and know this too:
You were not made to blend in, but nor were you made to feel alone.
The pain you feel now will one day help you tell your story
And in time you will see that resilience runs in your veins.

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.

small bug, flying by,
is that a windshield I spy?
SPLAT! No more small bug.

It always catches me by surprise
How quickly the house goes quiet
You were here, and then you weren’t,
And just like that, I’m missing you already
The magazines you had flipped through just minutes before
Still on the table, on the pages you chose
The zine you created and our attempts at calligraphy
Your pretty cursive on scrap paper, still right there but you aren’t
And just like that, I’m missing you already
We waved as you left our driveway
“See you soon!” we said, laughing
And even though you’ve barely left, I’m missing you already
-a.b

I'm enough because
I don't need to find my identity
within others' words.
I'm enough because
God says I am.

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 was silly to think
i could belong in a space
made only for girls like you,
your makeup perfect
your snapchat streaks long and hard-won
your problems superficial

i am none of this. i am here but i am invisible.

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?

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?

gently gently
they placed you in my arms
you were too little to live, they said
but to strong-willed to die
“She might not make it through the night,” they said,
But instead you survived

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

Scars,
Like fingerprints,
Like humans themselves,
Each miniscule but infinitely important.
So miniscule, but telling a story.
Each of us here on Earth
Tells a story and bears a scar
That tells a story also.

Sixth grade, middle school,
That's when it begins
The competition, the bullying,
Trying to fit in,

Trying to fit in
But standing out all the same
Trying to belong,
But left out of everything
Their words begin to sink in
Like seeds,
They breed self conciousness
She longs for the 'me'
She used to be
The one with self-esteem

But she's let their words define her
They bind her, hold her, keep her
Blind, unable to see
The beauty on the inside
On the outside, on her tear-washed face

She keeps it bottled up inside
Afraid to tell anyone,
She thinks she's the reason why
But the reason she feels so dark inside isn't her.

There is no wrong way to write poetry.
I have little interest for rules.
Poetry does not have rules.
My English teacher shows us stanzas, rhyme schemes,
Couplets, triplets, quatrains and quintets
And I stare into the space above her head.
When can I write free verse again?
I don't want to follow the rules.
I want to do what feels right.

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

The words don't want to
Flow out but the poetry
Flows out like water.

the sunlight hits her glasses
just right
her brown hair escapes from its braid.
she jumps energetically off
her bike

she's a
wild girl,
not afraid to be herself

she'll climb a tree
and scrape her knee,
but she goes higher,
faster,
longer,
stronger,
she's a
wild girl