Thirty.
Thirty dead.
Forty-two injured.
In forty-eight hours.
Two hundred and fifty mass shootings in eight months.
Thousands dead.

Are you kidding?
Is this really what we are?
It's not the time to talk about gun laws?
SHOW ME A BETTER ******* TIME!
People are dying at elementary schools, at bars, at Walmart!

I tried to be sensible.
I tried to see both sides.
But I can't anymore.

These aren't just numbers.
These are people.
These are lives.
These are stories.
These are husbands and wives, children, parents, grandparents, uncles, aunts, friends.
One death does not only impact one person.
In fact, the dead has the least amount of pain.
That one dead impacts hundreds of lives.
A lifetime of sadness.
I feel for the victims, I do.
But I ache for the families.
For the friends.
For the community.
I ache for the shooter, for his family.

He did awful things.
Unspeakable crimes.
There is nothing worse than taking a life.
But he is gone too.
His family lost someone too. Someone they loved.
Someone they cared about.
Their lives are forever changed, as well.

We need to change these idiotic laws.
We are the only respected nation with mass shootings in the double digits.
Hell, we have TRIPLE digits!
Gun ownership is NOT a right.
Gun ownership should not be a right.
I have said this more times than I can count.
IS YOUR RIGHT TO A GUN MORE ******* IMPORT THAN MY RIGHT, OR ANYONE ELSES RIGHT, TO LIVE?
Dear Mr. Gun Lover, sir, if you have a right, a truly inalienable right, than so do these shooters.
Please don't let the number become two hundred and fifty one.
It is on you. It is on all of us.

A grid of nine, trapped behind
the locked box of cyberspace,
unavailable, calling for me.

The pink hues of stories and pictures,
the celebrities announcing another ad,
an AMA, capturing the repeated days.

A robotic stage, the marvelous mingling
of strangers, of friends we’ll never truly meet.
It’s hard to stay away for long.

The green and blue bubbles of simplicity.
Of how was your day. Of excitement. Of plans.
A concert of lyrics addressed only to me.

The bird which sings for all to hear.
The nerds who look up from their book
to smile a hello. The chaotic certainty
of community, calling for me.

After a day away, I’ve arrived back home,
the rectangular refuge of a reimagined reality.

I've been really, really anxious lately.
Like, there's this giant knot
In my chest.
And I just keep tugging
And tugging
But it won't loosen.

It keeps getting tighter
Like a noose.
I can barely breathe.
My heart is pounding louder
Then my thoughts.

I don't know if I
Just can't hear them,
Or if they're not there
At all.

My old dance company,
It no longer exists.
To put it short,
They finally got their new name.
Elements.

Maybe that's what I feel.
Elements.

There's fire.
In my heart.
Anger, I guess.
A lust for movement;
For joy.
Waiting to be filled.

But at the same time,
I'm full of ice.
Shivering.
Like a rat in a storm drain.
Is that all I am?

I miss the Earth.
Being outside.
When I was a little kid,
Now, I'm sorry, this is gross.
When I was a little kid,
And I'm talking like one or two.
I used to be that kid
That would lick ants off of rocks.

Like one time,
And we have it on film.
One time it got so bad that
I had to take an outdoor shower.
My mom hosed me down
right in front of the big tree
outside my apartment.

Now I can't even listen to
The rain,
Without gagging.
The stench.
That terrible stench.
Worms are worse
then rotting corpses.
I can handle week-old roadkill
With the windows open.
But a summer storm
Will nauseate me.

I miss when I was a little kid,
And water made me happy.
I miss being happy.

Elements.
It's bittersweet.
Not like dark chocolate strawberries sweet.
Like, the world is crumbling at my feet,
but at least I have you sweet.
Like, you make the sourest moments
Into the brightest ray of sunshine.

There is nothing I love more than you.
There is no one I love more than you.
I had no idea that I would miss
dancing so much.
That I would miss
You so much.

I am trying to make friends.
I am.
I am trying to find a family.
But what's the point?
You. You are my family.
I feel like ****,
Thinking that I could ever replace you.

But what else can I do?
I can't go back.
I told myself I could.
I told you I could.
I told you I would.
But I lied.

I can't predict the future.
When I promised you,
My love, when I lied to you,
I thought nothing would change.

But you changed your name.
You moved away.
And I did too.
And now I don't have the courage
to face you again.
I said goodbye.
And maybe that was a mistake,
But it's too late for me to change my mind.
I can't turn back the clock.
Just like you can't turn back yours.

Without you,
I am so lonely.
I am so ******* lonely.

I miss your hugs.
And the smile they'd bring to me.
If I could wrap up those emotions,
And sell them by the bottle,
I'd be able to buy a plane ticket
And fly to you.
Just to get another hug in person.

If I could just get one text back.
A single text.
It would mean the world.

And you,
If you could stay off that phone
For one minute.
And talk to me instead of him,
Show me any ounce,
Of that empty, empty word.
Maybe I could try to find
Its meaning again.

I feel like a rectangular peg,
Shoving myself into a circular hole,
And I've tried to file myself down.
I've tried to fit.
But I am never going
To be a circle.

I've looked for things to replace you.
Other groups I can
shove my attention into.
They all just tighten the knots.
Each one grabs a piece of string,
Tugging every single direction,
Each wanting me to snap.

Maybe the world is just too
Dark for me to ever get
A good picture.

Maybe I haven't lived in one
Dark enough to turn it into light.

Maybe I'll never be good
Enough for poetry.
Just like I was never
good enough for you.
My picture wasn't good
Enough in the air,
So I tried taking one myself.
And I tried again.
And again.
And again.

They all seemed so nice.
But I don't even know their names.
I could never reach out to them.
Get to know them as I've known you.

I have never felt so alone
In my life.
In a room filled with people,
How could I be the only one there?
In an empty room,
How can so many eyes
Be staring at me?
Just waiting
For me to make another mistake.
To **** up.
Again,
And again,
And again.

For I'm just a child,
Starving for attention.
And I've never even heard of this game.

I go to sleep every night,
Hoping, praying,
To wake up.
In my own bed.
My dog at my feet.

I want to go back to the studio.
I want to hug you all,
One by one.
Promise that I will never
Fall asleep again.
I want to wake up from this nightmare.

I want her to make us a beautiful dance.
I want to see her smile.
A coffee in hand,
Light radiating out of
Every atom in her body.

I want to forget again,
And be scared shitless
Of disappointing you.
I want to put all the hate
I have for myself onto you.
I want you to hate me,
So that I don't have to.

I want to go back to that
Purple dressing room.
With the masks on the walls.
When that room still had a sense of calm.
I want to sit down on the white bench,
And look at you atop the window.
I want to see your smile.

I miss tapping.
Being loud.
Making noise.
I want to make sound,
Without that sound
Being annoying.

Because after every
Word I say,
I want to claw out my
Vocal cords,
And never return.
I want to be silent again.

I want to see your face,
When I finally felt free.
I wish I could go back.
I wish I could say yes.
I wish I hadn't said goodbye.

I want to pull into that
Parking space.
Overlooking the pond.
I want to go back to that day,
Where I sat on a donkey.
And you on the branch.
And we laughed.
And we played.
Like little kids.

I miss the cheeseburgers
We ate at Culver's.
I miss exploring the theatre.
Hiding behind the door,
That we could never look inside,
And trying not to fall
Down that platform
Near the stairs.
Because we didn't shy
Away from fun
Just to avoid getting hurt.
I wish I could let myself get hurt.

I want to fight with my sister.
To prove to her that dance is more
A sport than soccer ever could be,
I want to sit in her room,
And pretend to care about whatever's
On the television,
Just so I can see her face.
And hear her voice.
And feel her presence.

I want to watch television
With Dad.
I want us to talk
About something other than science.
I want to go on a walk.
Look at the stars.
I wish you would have
taken me camping.
Because I was wrong.
I did want to go.
I do want to go.

I miss seeing all of you
At the benches
Before school started.
I miss my locker,
And how you would write me notes.
I miss you grabbing my phone every time
I looked away,
And filling up my storage
With useless videos
That I cannot stop watching.

I miss loving the people I'm with.
I miss happiness.
And it hurts.
Because I knew things would change,
I did.
But I didn't know
That nothing would be the same.
I just want something to be the same.

my attention is deficit
like a bird with no worms
to find

he teleports
to his next location
a jolt of electricity
popping
from one streetlamp
to the other

never soaring
he has no wings to flap

twenty students in
perfect little rows
worker bees in training

a crooked child
shakes his hand
a silent celebration

he knows the answer

it is not one
of math or science

he cannot tell you
who won the war
but he can tell you
what makes the world
beautiful

he can tell you
that knowledge is
about more than
just facts

that what’s interesting
isn’t always what’s
important

behind those
failing grades and
messy locker
is a child who longs
to learn
a child who is
smart
a child who
isn’t meant to be
just another
worker bee

some children
are meant for more
then the target
of a flower

my lips
are a doorjamb
blocking all
but a wail

my words succinct
yet you cannot
hear them

I want to be anywhere but here.

I want to walk the streets of Paris.
Pitter patter of heels clicking the pavement,
moonlight glowing on your skin,
bread waking us up in aroma cloud
just as the sun begins its rise.

I want to go on an adventure.
Let’s race to see who can get across
the bridge the fastest.
Teach me how to skip stones.
Will you give me a kiss
for each leap the little rock takes?
Pull me out of the water when I fall,
I want to walk across that log with you,
I want to go splashing in the puddles.

I want a quiet afternoon.
It could be dark and rainy,
we whisper the seconds in between the storm,
or the sun could shine,
brighter than you say my smile does.
I want to nestle into your body,
the blankets covering us both.
I’m melting into the pages,
another world a vivid dream inside my mind.
You read over my shoulder, making a mental note
to recreate the date on page ninety-four.

I want to be spontaneous.
Wake me up on a Tuesday, and tell me
we’re going for a photoshoot.
I’ll put my feet up on the dash,
Taylor Swift blasting from your speakers.
You can’t sing, nor can I,
but I’ll still laugh when you trip over the words,
no matter how loud and proud you yell them.

I’ll tell you how to pose,
chin up, no down,
a little to the left, there.
There.
Perfect.
We’re perfect.
Snap.
My favorite day now captured forever.
I brought the camera, but you have your phone.
Will you take pictures of me when I’m not looking?
Do I look beautiful?

Tell me about your dreams.
Tell me about your favorite fact,
the one that you learned in the third grade,
and is obvious now,
but completely blew your mind.
Did your friend teach it to you?
Who was the first person you had a crush on,
tell me about the time that they talked to you.
Did you know I used to want to change my name?
Did you know I’ve always wished we’d meet?
Did you know I long to fall in love?
Did you know I’m terrified that I’ll never get the chance?
Did you know I live in the present, mostly to escape the future?

I want to be anywhere but here.

A laugh.
An expression of joy, comfort, serenity.
A tool to say:
I see you.
I appreciate you.
Unless;
I don't.
Unless;
I mock you.
Unless;
To show hate.
To show that I,
Am better.
Than you.
Than a creator.
An artist.
Someone I should appreciate.
Someone I should respect.
Someone who gave me their heart.
Their movement.
Their joy.
And I laughed,
And I scoffed,
And I spat in your face.
And to think;
A twix could solve this
Rift between us.
I devoured your feelings.
Your meaning in this world.
Your poetry, your song.
What about this can nuget not fix?
A crunchy bar,
Filled with caramel,
And a golden copper shell.
A treat for your troubles.
An apology;
For a sin,
About to be repeated.
You gave me your heart.
Your song.
Your memories.
And I scoffed at them.
But I had the right.
And a twix bar,
Was my apology.
Before I did it again.
A laugh.

I am sorry
for saying
goodbye

when I really
meant hello
I was young

I wasn't ready
but neither
were you.

I flipped through the pages,
taking in every word as scripture.
This is how my body will grow,
this is how to get a boy to like me,
this is who I’m supposed to turn into.

I was just a little girl.
I couldn’t have told you
my favorite color, I still don’t know
what I want to be when I grow up.

I just turned another page.
And I knew.

I had more fingers on my hands
than trips around the sun,
but even so young and so naive
my instincts were stronger
than fiberglass.

Something was wrong.

But I didn’t look like those pictures.
I didn’t hate myself.
I didn’t do it on purpose.
None of the words fit
to what I was feeling
but they were calling to me.

Screaming.

Juliana, you are us.
Juliana, you don’t have to eat that.
Juliana, something is wrong.

I was so young.

How did I know so young?
How did I only find out today?

Little Juliana,
what else did you know?

it’s just as blue fades to black, the white ripple of tide can lead to the kingdom of peace.
my belief fades in and out, ****** deeper into the black hole that is the ocean. swarming with life,
not a care for what i’ve missed out on. a school of fish, a single tidbit to be plucked out and dissected,
resisting the urge to throw my entire bucket into the fire.

i’ve never been one for seafood. i don’t even care for a taste. nevertheless, i long for the stars.

i’m told that he loves me. i’m told that he is the beacon of light, the glow of an anglerfish
in the darkness of the bone-chilling waters. i tried to swim away, i escaped, yet,
as strong as gravity has on a galaxy, have i been caught in a net, reluctantly pulled back to shore?
did i wash up willingly?

i’ve been told that there is a hallway full of sand; a trail to the stairway to the stars.
there is but a single question: do i wish to be among them?

Love the ocean more
than a dark bar
on a Friday night.

For there are plenty
of fish in the sea,
yet nobody is here for you.

Love the ocean more
than a summer night’s air,
for only one
can leave you breathless.

Love the ocean more
then the stars,
because one’s a mystery,
without ever
having to leave home.

Love the ocean,
because it’s telling you
you’re human.

My home.
Destroyed.
Fifteen years.

I left.
On my own terms;
at peace.
But I thought I could always come back.
That it would always be
my home.

And now it's gone.
One by one, the pieces trickle.
The people. The place.
What's next?
The memories?
I don't want them lost.
I don't want them tainted.
My jacket. Oh, god, my jacket.
Soaked in tears, sweat, love.

It's branded with your name.
With our name.
And now that name is gone.
And the one in its place is filled with sorrow.
You are no longer there.
It is no longer home.

Fifteen years.
I'm sorry.
I promised you I would come back.
I promised you but a week ago.
But oh, what a week will bring.
Friend, my dear, sweet friend,
I cannot come back.
This is no longer my home.
It is just a place,
Located just outside of my heart.

This is an apology.

No, not a notes app apology.
You deserve more. This apology
is a thank you.

So thank you.
For being the people I needed, right before
I needed you. Thank you, for showing me
to the stars. Thank you, for teaching me
how to feel.

You arrived as a black wave, a dark abyss
coating the horrors yet unknown to me.
You held me near, a guidebook of pages.
I focused on you, blind to the evils surrounding me.

I loved you. I love you. I thank you.

The horrors haven’t left me.
I don’t think they ever will.
A mask will always hide my face,
I will always come running back to you,
I will always think of you when I’m alone.

But these days are brighter than when we met.
These days I look towards
the blue sky, not a dark wave.

These days I focus on joy.

These days, I let my love for you,
be a background, not my home.

So, to you,
I apologize, and I thank you.
For everything.

walking
down the narrow path
the leaves
rustling in the wind
my hair
tied back into a messy bun
a smile
plastered across my face
as i
look at the world around me
spring
it has come

You push me,
shout at me,
pull me around
like I exist as a form of playdough;
one which molds at your touch,
like you are my creator,
and I, just your masterpiece.

Like I am an object,
a toy,
some plastic, a bit of wire.

Even if that may be,
even if you reduce me to
be held in the eyes of a child,
is that all I am?
Am I not more?

Does a child not feel?
Not love?
Not play?

How is a child’s love any less than yours?
How am I any less worthy?

I am not a ball of dough.
I am not to be rolled around.
To be pushed;
to be shoved.

I will not let your words penetrate me.
I will stay guarded;
strong.
I will not unravel under the thread of your fingertips;
I will only be picked apart by my own.

Resilient.

Like the last breath of a flickering bulb,
those sweet sorrow seconds of a candle
right before the flame dies down.

I am a flame, and I will be fire,
and I will not be stopped.

I am not a monster.
My veins are the same
purplish hue as yours.
Pricked by the same needle,
an arrow can penetrate
my body, soul escaping
my still-beating heart.

I cling to your words.
I want to know your soul,
your deepest insecurities,
the smallest bits of joy.
I want to be in love.

The universe is a gallery,
each star a mosaic of art,
colliding and combining
to create beauty;
a masterpiece;
you.
I could look at you for eons.

*

I am not to be perceived
by capitalistic powerhouses.
Life is not a final boss,
requiring each day
to serve as a minigame,
collecting coins and
jumping blocks until
I reach the Bowzer.

I live for myself,
the sole goal of
collecting knowledge
and seeing stars
until my final breath,
at which I can say my life
felt complete once I knew
that every single person
I met had smiled.

I will not live by
checking boxes off a form,
stats gathered frequently
on if I’m living it right.
Because there is no right.

There are only idealistic fantasies
that maybe if I run fast enough,
I could one day hope to reach.
There is the rustic murkiness
of yesteryear attempting to
****** its claws on my soul.
It will not win.

This game of mine
may not be multiplayer,
nor do I have the cheat codes,
but I am having fun,
I am exploring the world,
and I will not listen—
never listen—to you saying
that I am playing it wrong.

There are days in which it seems as if the whole world is falling down.
These are the days in which the ceiling crumples at my feet.
The days where everything I’ve ever known,
my very sense of being
is destroyed.

Who am I?
I thought I knew.
I have lived over seven-thousand days traveling on this earth.
Seven-thousand days as myself.
How didn’t I know?

My entire life,
one could say I was boy crazy.
Has that changed?
I have never been one to change childhood crushes every other week.
If I had a crush, it either lasted years,
or it never existed at all.

Just a wanting.
A wanting to feel.
A wanting to love.

But I can love.
I love my friends, my family.
I love the stories I read,
the characters I create,
the fabric of our reality.
I love being alive.
But I don’t love like that.
And I want to.

Now, I watch as the dust starts to settle.
I kick the white powder at my feet,
starting to regain my breath.

Focus, breathe.
You’re okay. I’m okay.
This is me. I am real.
This is me. I am real.

In the corner, by the rubble,
a slip of cardstock lies innocently.
Cardstock.
This is what my life has succumbed to.
A piece of paper with three humps and a tail.

I am okay.
I will learn to love myself.
I will learn to be proud.

Maybe one day this card will slip away,
the rubble will disappear,
and I will wonder what the fuss was all about.

But not today.
Today I will hold this card close.
I will slip a metal band around my fingertip.
I will do what I do best
and learn, and love, and feel.
Because that’s all we can ever do.
We can grow.
I want to grow.

.1. Grey which shines
like the light
of a thousand stars.

The stress of schoolwork
spreads through my veins
like a rollercoaster,
the classroom a carnival.

A ceramic dog resting
atop the microwave.

Say hello.
His name is Gerald.
He watches over us.

A minor god the only thing
getting us through our majors.

2. 256 unmade rocket ships.
A castle made of bare bears.
A tower only reached
by the dwindling of time.

3. Bones held together
in a garland, our guards,
warding off the evil spirits,
our fortress safe
from goblins and ghouls.

4. Memories marinated,
pretty polaroids posted peculiarly.
Traded the white squares
for red packets.

Ketchup displayed,
hoping for plates of fries;
enough to feed an army.

5. You bite them,
and they’ll bite back.

Tropical tastiness tattooed
just under 800 times.

On pillows and placards,
lamps and lights,
dressers and drawstrings.

6. A secular resistance,
screaming with pride
and holiday cheer,
specific holiday undecided.

The forest in which the bunny
came and laid his eggs upon;
plastic snowballs among them.

The star a sign from God:
a backwards babe dangling,
marron and gold streaming down,
hands holding us up,
willing us to awake another day,
to add another holiday to the tree,
to get to June, the *** of gold
at the end of the rainbow.

7. Twinking in another time.
Multicolored lights
souring every which way.

As bright as us,
sometimes more.

8. Peppa Pig and her porky pals.
Resting on the windowsill
outside their houses and
play structures.

Perfectly posed as we
ponder profusely.

9. Spheres of fine fur,
floating and sinking
like waves to the tide.

Alive yet not quite sentient.
Bubbles popping
as they reach the surface.

Richard: the plant hastily named.

Third, the one which longs
for elsewhere, its potential
breaking as it reaches the ground.

10. Seven seats. A pair of twins,
studious rocking at their desks,
tucked in, patting their head
as I scratch mine.

The lost triplet, tucked away
near the door, perpetual time-out
for a deed never dedicated.

A hidden fourth,
lost and forgotten,
unneeded and unnamed.

The fifth, the blue moon,
the favorite, the one
never picked last.

A sixth, the found friend.
A grandmother who wheels around,
baking. Bertha is beautiful.

The last, a grey futon.
Permanently perched
is a student, laptop chugging,
these words written
as they’re read to you.

You reek like a poison.
You are not pretty.
There is not a faint whiff
of almond tracing the
path of your putrid
perfume
—a crumpled cookie from
the bottom of
Grandmother’s tin.

The apple doesn’t
fall far from the tree,
and you are the rat
succumbed to its curse.

Although the vermin
is you, she is the prey.
Praying to get away
from the suffocating
scent of your racing
heart.

Obey her. Because
without her, you are
nothing.
You are not a diamond
littered in a field of
whimsical confetti.
You are not the gold
plated juice fallen
from the apricot,
sliced open
solely for the pleasure
of your mortifying mind.

You are invisible.
Looking for a reason to
exist. Looking to pass
your pain onto an
unsuspecting soul.
An object. A doll.

You want to be the
air which courses
through her veins,
the thing that makes
her weak
but Peaches,
you
are the weak one.

A puff of smoke
doesn’t do it
anymore, or maybe
it’s in your jeans,
but the picture
is clear.

You are sick
of being pestered.
Terrified of being
labeled as something
you’re not.
You have a headache,
but all she wants to do
is look up at the stars
without the sky falling
down on her.

She wants to go to
sleep at night without
the rats clawing at
her covers.

She wants to breathe.

Oh, how a little ripple in the ocean
can create the biggest of tides.

I was never one for the water.
I was doing just fine on land.
But you,
you made me
an oceanographer.

You showed me to the fish,
and one by one,
I wanted to collect them all.
One by one,
I became addicted.

It was nuclear.
Like an atomic bomb,
you changed my world.
For the better. For the worst.

My exoskeleton was shattered,
and I was left to pick up the pieces.
I’m still here,
putting myself back together like a puzzle,
covered in grains of sand,
finding myself among the coral.

I’m hidden. I’m broken.
But you gave me my glue.
You fill up my seams.
You’ve taught me wrong from right,
you’ve left me more questions
then I could even think to answer.

I’m now a politician,
having to choose
which lies I believe,
which lies I want to believe.
What do I want to be the truth.

Because of you,
I’ve fallen into a world
I can’t get out of,
I’ve been thrown into
a wormhole I never thought possible,
like a dung beetle
I’ve had to scrape through ****
to see the other side,
and I’ve had to flush
my former self down the toilet.

But maybe I was never her.
Maybe I have always been me.
Maybe this is who
I’ve always meant to be.
Maybe I haven’t
even been found yet.

But I thank you,
I thank you so much
because now I’m on that journey.

I am on a ship
that is going to sail me
away to my future.
My neverland.

I, thanks to you,
will find neverland.
I’m so glad I lost the boy.

Dear-Keydoard,

****-you.I-woke-up-this-morig
i-such-a-good-mood.­Although-there
was-a-slight-threat-of-rai,the-soud-of
thuder-wrap­ped-me-i-a-tight-hug.

There-was-o-aggig-feelig-of-detrayal
happe­ig-deeath-my-figertips.
My-creativty-was-flowig-freely.
The-words­-movig-from-drai-to-figertips,
words-separated,floodig-oto-the-ke­ys.
The-duzzig-of-my-drai-mixed-with-the
ull-of-oise-expected-of-­early-morig.

Dut-the,like-outer-space,I-missed-the
gravity-of-th­e-situatio.We-are-ot-a
friedship.We-are-darely-colleagues.
I-push­-you,you-do-what-I-say,
dut-sometimes,right-whe-I-eed-you,
you-do­’t.

So-I-thak-you,dear-keydoard,
for-deig-so-reliadle,
for-all-t­he-wrog-reasos.

Two-weeks-of-vacatio-is-all-I-could-hope,
Juliaa­-Theis

Do you ever want to run away?
Like, find your person and run
To that deserted island,
Never to be seen again.

An island with an endless
Supply of food and water.
With every book and movie
In the world, just no way
To contact those you
Left behind.

Who is the person you’d pick?
What do you do when you
know that the person you’d
pick, has someone else in mind?

I know I am nobody’s favorite person.
Whether it’s because we’ve never met,
Or your mama’s your best friend,
Or you’ve known this person since kindergarten
Or he’s your boy and I’m your girl.

If I ran away to that deserted island,
what message would I leave behind?
Because even though I’m nobody’s
favorite person, they still love me,
right? Right?

If I left a note,
it would probably be song lyrics.
“I hope I made you smile
that’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

Why do I want to run away?
I want my hands to stop shaking.
I want the memories out of my head
whenever I close my eyes.
I want my mistakes not to matter anymore.
I want to forget the little things.

I hate anxiety.
I hate that it makes me think these things.
I hate that I’ve made mistakes.
I hate that I’ve hurt people I love
without the knowledge I was even doing it.

I just want to be happy
without feeling guilty for it.
I know the world isn't perfect,
but I want that to be okay.
I want to be able to say
“yes” instead of “yes, but.”

I want that deserted island
to come to me.

Friends.
If you don't stay close,
you'll lose them.

I don't want to lose them.
They're brand new.
It's only been five years.
It can't be time, right?
It can't be time.

I've spent so long wanting
a big group of friends.
When I was little,
I had a giant group,
an imaginary group.
They always left at the end of playtime.

You, you don't leave.
I think of you when we're away.
I text you, I see you.
You're real.
Stay real.
Please, stay real.

I want to hangout,
I want to be friends.
Yes, school is over.
Yes, I am going away.

I will no longer get to ask what
we're doing in third period,
or what was that last step in the choreography.
But we can still eat ice cream.
We can still laugh, smile, and love.

We can still be friends.
The distance can't ruin that.
Or can it?

Open eyes. Open window.
The birds chirp.
Someone, somewhere, cuts their grass.
A child plays. Laughter.

Open book.
Yesterday, one about love.
Today, a dystopian future where
people shroud in their house with fear.
Sound familiar?

Check my phone.
A text about linguistics.
How to pronounce an “R”
for a language I’ll never know.
Useful information for a different time.

Open the news.
100,000 dead.
Over 40 times as many from Pearl Harbor.
Over 33 times as many as 9/11.
Both horrible tragedies from before your time.
Both with more emotion connected in your brain.
I wonder if I’ve forgotten how to feel.

Another article.
Another man dead.
Another targeted for bird watching.
Another day I long for change.
To do: check your stigmas.
Don’t be like them.
Be human.
Be real.

Open book. Flip page.
Character reminds me of a simpler time.
High school. Friendship.
To do: text friends.
Maybe I’ll see them again someday.

Close book.
Tired of reading a troubled world
too similar to my own.

What else to do?
Take pictures?
This is not a time worth remembering.
Watch videos?
There isn’t another world to escape to.
Check news.
Tear gas. Moment of silence.
I can still feel. Wipe tear.

I’m done.
I’m done with the death.
I’m done with the destruction.
I’m sick of guns, and wars, and sickness, and isms.
I’m done hoping the world will change;
the world will be better.
Because it did, and it’s not.

Where will our world be in five years?
In ten?
Tomorrow?
Do I even want to know?
Because every time I take a step closer to believing
that we are good,
realty piles on top of me.
I see everything I have to privilege to ignore.
I see it all at once.

I love humans.
I love our differences; I love our flaws.
I love that we can talk to anyone in the world,
at a push of a button,
but I also hate it at the same time.
On days like today,
I don’t want to know what’s happening.
I want to stay in my bubble,
away from all the bad.

Open my book and pretend it’s all there is.
The darkness is just fiction.
Hope that one day, that will be true.

Hey Mommy?

When I type bat instead of cat, do the letters get mad at me?

Is it a vacation, a retirement to the land far away,
full of words I’ll never get to know,
or did I send them away to crumble into pixels?

Is that forgotten apology chopped up
into little pieces in the back of the computer,
a plastic box under the harddrive
that Daddy gets to clean out
when he refills the printer ink?

I want to read the book filled with all the lost letters,
the one where my fourth-grade book report
comes after the job application you were never qualified for,
but just before the neighbor’s college essay,
deleted so his own Mommy could help him.

Hey Mommy?

Can I ever check on them?

I hope they turn into a book about superpowers.

I’d be sad if these keys turned into nothing more
than a scrapped poem or a forgotten apology.

Hey Mommy?

I miss the forgotten letters.

Do you think they ever miss me?

As long as the blue ocean
Expands the horizon,
Engulfs ships, and
Lets fish roam amongst
The swirling tides,
I will always love you.

And as long as the sun
Shines from up above,
Sprinkling joy into
Our lives like the
Sunflower petals
do your hair,
I will always love you.

As long as the red fire
Rages from down below
And the white serenity
Gives a blissful calm
From up ahead,
I will always love you.

As long as the green
From the treetops
Sways in the wind,
And as long as the
Children can play
In the glorious grass,
I will always love you.

As long as the gray
Mountains soar up above,
Waiting to be climbed,
I will always love you.

As long as the scent of
Lavender, purple and sweet,
Fills the air,
In a mist of magnificence,
I will always love you.

As long as the night,
Silent and mysterious,
Lets us rest, and leave
Our worries behind,
If only just for tonight,
I will always love you.

And as long as the
Autumn leaves fall,
Year after year,
Fluttering down
Like a gentle storm,
I will always love you.
Forever, and ever,
I will.

I wasn't born here, yet here I am.
I don't come from turf green fields
My knees aren't stained from endless amounts of grass
I don't like to run, I don't like to yell
I don't like to kick spheres into boxes made of net.
Yet here I am.
I am with you, my mother, my father, my sister's coach
Her best friend, their family, wives, husbands, daughters, and sons.
I am not from here.
I am from tap shoes, ballet buns, pas de bourrées.
I am from time steps, chassés, and chaînés turns.
I am from music, motion, and love.
I wasn't born here, yet here I am.

I’m obsessed with fictional characters.
There’s just something about knowing nothing’s real,
and having the solace that any misfortune
goes away when you close the page,
and any joy you can take with you on your day.

On days like today, I need that.
I need to jump into a book,
to pretend like my world isn’t real,
like those that want to hurt the ones I love aren’t real,
that this hate, and injustice, and fear
is all just a figment of my imagination.

I shouldn’t beg for a fictional dictator to materialize into my world.
I shouldn’t believe that someone who was written to be evil
is better than those living.
But I do.

Because how can people be this evil.
How can there be this much hate?
How can people hurt others,
for what?
What do they gain by putting others down?
What do they gain by making the world a worse place?

…I don’t have an answer,
and I don’t think I want to know one.
All I know is that I’m going to keep fighting.
Today, and always,
until those I love, and those I will never get a chance to meet
have the same rights as everyone else.
Until the world is a place I want to live in.
Until the world is so perfect, it’s almost fictional.
Until I don’t want to leave.

Fifteen.
For fifteen years you were my home.
For fifteen years you kept me from the rain.
You were there when my parents were late at work.
You were there when I needed a place to love.
You were there when I needed a place to call home.

You were my friends.
You were my family.
You taught me how to love.
You taught me happiness.
You taught me that I could call you home.
And you were the one who slammed the door in my face.

Over.
And over.
And over again.

You said you wanted this to be a place of inclusiveness,
and you were the one who made me feel alone.
Alone.

So often was I there when you cried.
So often did you say you were proud of me.
So often did you call me a friend.
But that's not what you showed me.

From you I learned pain. From you I felt alone.
And you said no one was ever alone.
For fifteen years I called you my home.
But you never were.

And now I say goodbye.
Now I leave.
You gave me a rose, but I left with thorns.

And I thank you for that.
I thank you for the love.
I thank you for the friends.
I thank you for the family.
But just because you gave me my family;
does not mean you were mine.

You changed, and not for the better.
I sit here in this jacket.
Your name stitched across the top.
My real family in my pocket.

Thank you for the memories, but
I will not forget.
I will never forget how I felt when I left.
Alone.

I miss you, and you’re not even real.
I miss your eyes, which soften at my glance.
I miss your sinister smile,
the fine lines that appear when
you tug the edges of your lips into a grin
that’s reserved only for me.

I miss your warm embrace,
your soft kiss,
and your **** witty remarks,
which are placed perfectly every time.

I love you, and you’re not even real.
I love you, and you’re not even mine.
I know you, and I want you to know me too,
but you can’t; because you’re words on a page.

You’re a figment of some else’s imagination
that’s planted in my brain and refused to let go.

But feel free to stay for as long as you like.
And if one day you magically become real,
I’ll be waiting right here,
ready for whatever life brings us,
Together.

You are not a wolf, my sweet.
You are not all that’s wrong with your world.
You are not the silver bullets
your fingertips let slip away,
you are not the knife at her throat.

You, my darling,
are a prince in disguise.
You, my dear,
are the bloodied rabbit
who wriggled your way from the fox.
You, my love,
are the villain who escaped
the prison of your own imperfect poison.

You are the laughter I feel on my lips.
The cracked song of a crinkled French lullaby.
The memories of a duet passed down through the ages.

You are the pain in between my heartbeats.
The open door after a wave of tears.
A bandage that will only separate
from a soul after a lifetime of picking.

You are the sweet, sugary lies I could only hope to believe.
The maze I long to get lost in.
The fountain which clings to my youth.
The fairytale I choose to believe.

You are tied to the girl who fell at your hand.
You traded a wrinkled suit in order
to join her in within the stars.
A crown of gold for the shine of a barrel.

You are tied to the girl whose blood matches yours.
The girl whose purple flowers you’d never trade
for the twinkling power of another’s eyes.
A hero in denial with other matters at hand.

You are tied to the girl whose future
lies in between the pages of a story.
The girl who ran into the woods
leaving your soul empty as the blackest of nights.

You are not an angel.
You are far from a demon.

I hope every day
brings you as much joy
as you felt riding down
that Florida highway.

I hope you can drive
with the windows down,
sunroof open,
a convertible as safe
as your recurring fairytale.

I hope the wind
blows through your hair,
the humidity feeling
like a warm hug
from the clouds.

I hope the music is loud,
and you know every word.

I hope you’re present.

I am from books; yellowed pages and black ink.
I am from shoes; leather and worn.
I am from dancing; Tap, jazz, and modern.
I am from Disney; DCOM's and the Disney Channel.
I am from television; Riverdale and Pretty Little Liars.
I am from Freeform and the CW.
I am from Bones and The Pretender.
I am from Pokino, and Forensic Files, and pasta.
I am from Ireland, Italy, and Germany.
I am from Belgium, France, and Grease.
I am from my bed in the morning.
I am from Science and Anthropology.
I am from painting and graphic design.
I am from Twizzlers, and Kit-Kats, and Oreos.
I am from apples and peanut butter.
I am from Okemos and Syracuse.
I am from ADHD and anxiety.
I am from happiness and the sense of calm.
I am from blue.
I am me.

"Guns don't **** people, people **** people."
If guns don't **** people, then why have over 39,773 people fallen at the hands of a gun?
Over 39,773 bullets have hit our skin, penetrated our insides, for them to never come out with us still breathing.
If guns aren't the problem, and people are, then shouldn't we ban everything people **** with?
Let's ban cars, hammers, knives, water, air, fire, and food.
**** it, let's cut off our own two hands while we're at it.
But here's the problem: I sound ridiculous.
We need cars to travel.
Hammers to build.
Knives to cook.
Water to drink.
Air to breath.
Fire to heat.
Food to eat.
And guns to...
Wait.
We need cars, knives, and food. They have a purpose, a reason.
But guns?
A gun's purpose is to ****.
To do harm.
We don't drive guns, cook with guns, or use guns for fuel.
We use, always have used, and always will use guns for one and only one purpose:
To ****.
To do harm.
To hurt.
So, I don't care if it's the gun or the person doing the killing.
What matters is that someone dies. What matters is that over 39,773 people have died.
39,773 lives lost, never to be seen or heard from again.
What matters is that even one life gone, is a life inexcusably lost. Forever.

I have an anxiety disorder.
I know, I know.
We all do.

It’s 2019. We’re Gen Z.
We grew up eating Red 40,
and processed sugar’s our religion.

But I have an anxiety disorder.
And ADHD. And a bit of OCD
when it comes to schoolwork.
Or books. Or anything that
does not matter.
But my room? Hahaha,
what’s cleaning?

I have an anxiety disorder.
That phrase goes through
my head several times a day.

I feel the constant buzzing.
My dance teachers used to
tell me to radiate energy
out of my fingertips.
And I do.
My hands tremble constantly,
and I forget to breathe.

I used to be that kid that
always had an imaginary friend.
When I was little,
his name was DeeDee.
But when he went away,
and there were others.
Like characters in a story,
but I could see them. Talk to them.
Now the voices are just in my head.

I have an anxiety disorder.
I like to talk. A lot.
Sometimes I’ll say a sentence
and not get to the point
for an hour.
Ranting’s like a pastime to me.
I’ll just ramble on and on.
Then stop myself.
“So, how’s your life going?”
Two seconds of silence,
Then back to whatever
show, or movie, or teacher
was annoying the hell out of me
whenever this conversation started.

I promise I don’t do this because I
like to hear myself speak.
On the contrary, actually.
I hate it. I hate my voice. I hate my words.
But I can’t face the silence.
Because whatever I say out loud
is a million times better
then the voices in my head.

“Shut up.”
“They don’t care.”
“You forgot to do this.”
“Remember that one time
you said that thing
freshmen year.”

I have an anxiety disorder.
I have ADHD.
I’ll have OCD if I get worse.

And if I could flip a switch
and it would all go away,
I would
in a heartbeat.
Snap my fingers and move to
a deserted island without any
people to judge my every move.
But then I’d be left with the
thing I hate most.
Quiet.

I like to believe that all people
Are good.
Are kind.
Are human.

But days like today
it's hard to believe.

It's hard to distrust yourself.
To want to believe so badly
that what you know is the truth.

That people are inherently good.
That people are inherently kind.
That people believe that other people
are human.
Are in the same boat.

But yet,
we belittle.
We mock.
We hate.

And why?
Why would someone need to do harm?
Want to do harm?
Why would someone
want to belittle?
Want to mock?
Want to hate?

Why don't others want good?
Want kindness?
Want love?

We learn the golden rule when we are little.
Treat others how you want to be treated.
Is this how you want to be treated?
This is not right.
This is wrong.
Hate is wrong.
You are wrong.

Does that mean that I am correct?
Absolutely not.
One thing I have learned,
one thing I hate to admit,
is that people are never an extreme.
People are never truly, utterly evil,
but they aren't inherently good either.
I am not inherently good.

There is hate in this world,
but there is also love.
And on days like today,
where the hate is surrounding us,
that is what I am going to cling to.
The good.
The kind.
The human.

Because at the end of the day,
we all have one thing in common.
We're human.

It was a Thursday when the doctor
gave news of the small child’s birth.

She was the first girl,
the entire light
in her mother’s new world.

Daughter of the mayor,
her name would
turn up in the local paper.
Letters would be written as
townspeople learned of the labor.

It was early in the summer,
birds pecked the dirt,
looking for worms.

The nurse was late for work,
as she was a helper
at the local church.

Times would eventually turn,
but for now, little Pearl
was like a dam waiting to burst.

The curl of her lips
showed her mood was firm.
She was a wave
that would soon be heard.

Quickly, she began to stir,
her eyes starting to blur.
Her mother worried,
feared the worst,
but all Pearl wanted
was someone to
nourish her thirst.

Years later, Pearl would sit,
searching a diner
while summer went quick.

Who was a tourist,
who did she know?

She was dressed
in a purple shirt,
and glamour radiated
down to her toes.

It was the third time
the waiter returned,
this time with Pearl’s dinner,
and the courage to earn
her number while the sun
slowly burned.

She drew circles in her journal,
finding peace among the curves,
and encouraged the boy
in thirteen little words.

The next week, she offered
him her hand,
and below the evening sun,
a new journey they began.