I have a friend.
She prefers geometry
And I prefer algebra,
But we get along just fine.
Sometimes she goes to talk
To my advisor
And I go to talk to hers.
We criss cross in the halls.
She can make her arms flow
Like they’re butterfly wings.
She reminds me of a flower.
Sometimes she remembers things
That happened in the past
And gets nervous.
Her hands shake.
But it’s okay.
I let her squeeze my hand numb,
Until her jitters go away.
She walks on her tip toes
And the bottoms of her
Feet are worn in.
Her hair is four times
Thicker than mine (we’ve measured),
And her waist is two sizes smaller,
But we understand each other.
The crevices of her that
Other people do not reach,
I have made a home in.
She let me dance with her, once,
In the dark in her house.
We flowed to the rhythm of
The classical music playing on
The radio on her nightstand.
One time in English class
I described myself as bubbly,
But I think it suits her better.

Today was the first time I realized I was beautiful. It’s different from saying, “I’m cute because when I pose a certain way I look skinny and that’s cute.” No. I am beautiful. It is the regal look in my eyes. It is the dip in my hips and the way my hourglass figure isn’t perfectly smooth. It is the stretch marks, the battle scars, that have been painted along my thighs. It is the way I stand; shoulders back, feet planted, arms hanging at my sides. It is the way my waist moves with my body. It is my hair falling down my shoulders and my back. It is the t-shirt tan from playing soccer out in the Texas heat. It is the anklet I braided for myself, the arch in my foot. It is the way my legs don’t curve at the knee, the way they turn hard when I put their muscles to use. It is the faintest line of my collarbone and the smoothness of my neck. It is the way freckles litter my face like birds are scattered across the day sky. It is the rainbow of colours in my irises, from ocean blue to sandy brown. It is the way I see myself, the warrior that has become me. It is the feet that will carry me to my deathbed; the invisible wings that will lay me in my grave. And in one hundred years, when I march out of the ground, they will see me and they will praise. “It is her,” they will call out, “she has come back! It is our girl; it is our warrior.”

Red is the colour of blood
Red is the colour that
Wraps my arms around you
When I am in love
Red is the colour of fire,
Of the warmth that keeps me alive
Red Is the colour
That makes me angry
The colour of you screaming
Down at me and  
The tears
Falling
Red is the colour of my hard work
“Beet red face” they call me
A bull and the red flag not
A deer in the headlights
I can fight for my own.
Red is the colour that kills
Little boys and girls
A barrel to the head
Pull the trigger already
Red  is the colour of hurt
Watch the blood pour down
Red is the colour of
Slumping to the ground
Red is the colour of tears
Red is the colour of love never spent
Red is the colour of faces never smiled
Red is the colour of her heart
Not pumping anymore
Her breath
Not flowing through the canals of her
Red throat
Never tasting a berry again
Put a barrel to the head  
“It’s only red,” she whispers
“Colours
Are nothing
To be afraid of.”

I am your new American best friend
I am the one that will change you
You don’t need her,
You need me
Me and my bleached hair with the fried ends
Me and my ***** mouth
Me and my clothes that don’t fit a year later
Me and you
We can do it
We’re those ***** girls
Those rich girls
The ones who live by the mansions
Who scream when they’re angry
Sob into the pillow
Link arms on the streets
Play with hair on the bed
Faces so close their lips could lock
Feet so tired they can’t walk alone
Stomachs not flat
Legs too big
You and me
The power couple they need
I’m your new American best friend
And you better deal with it

At 12:32 am,
When my phone is at 19%,
And my teeth hurt,
And I feel proud because I made a
Somewhat-not so-healthy smoothie,
I will remember you.
I will go through the bloopers from our
Old school films;
Don’t worry,
It’s hard to forget memories that make you feel.
It is hard to forget the soreness of laughter
It is hard,
To forget,
The stinging of tears
And as those salty drops roll down my face
I will remember you.
I will pluck each grain of sand
From the hourglass that is me and
I
Will
Watch.
I will listen
to the ghost of gossip
And I will see
the basketball boys again
And I will smell the sweet shampoo of you’re hair
Or maybe it was her hair;
I don’t remember.
It all blends in...
And I will feel the pounding of my steps
As you chase after me up the school stairs.
And we hide in a long lost game of tag
That was so important at the time.
But even as I remember you,
I will forget you.
I won’t quite know,
Which is which anymore.
In 10 years,
Our friendships will be lost.
And the videos I have
Of us being ourselves,
I will not recognize.
Because I am not that person anymore
And I won’t remember,
Why this was so important to me.
Because it won’t be.
“You are too far from perfect to be beautiful,”
You said to me once.
But aren’t we all?

Every once in a while
I remember what it is like to feel.
Not the kind of everyday feeling.
The tapping of a pen on a notebook
Or the weight of a bag on my shoulders.
But something...
Different.
Fifteen days ago I felt lust.
Trapped in the arms of star struck.
Hypnotized by you.
The curl in your hair;
the softness of your skin.
I was dancing too fast.
Falling too quick.
And it felt like fire.
We sat outside,
Alone.
And I could hear your heartbeat.
I laid my head
against your bare chest,
And the thumping of life drove me wild.
The fire coursing through your veins
Was warm in my ear.
The wind fluttered around us
And your crop top danced
Across your stomach.
But it was beautiful.
And I could feel it.
I had remembered.