We create our own worlds
To try and escape the harsh one awaiting us outside our doors.

But don't you realize?
Your existence is a miracle.
Every thought, feeling, and emotion
statistically impossible
but somehow you're here.

Why deny the world access to your miracle?
God knows, we need one.

I wish that I could reverse the clock,
And freeze time.
So I'd never have to say goodbye to you.

Dear daughter,
I love you
Let me start with that.
I am proud of the person you are and I promise I will always be here for you.

I want to remind you of some things that I've needed to be reminded of over the years.
1. You are beautiful in more ways than one. You have beautiful eyes that shine when you talk about something you love. Your smile is beautiful, the way it automatically brings light to the room. You are beautiful for the scar you will inevitably have on your knee (you're my daughter after all) because it shows you have fallen down but were strong enough to get back up. You are beautiful for your thoughts and ambitions: for your hopes and dreams.
2. Never ever compromise your intelligence. There is nothing wrong with liking to read or being good at biology. And if someone can't accept you for your knowledge, they do not deserve to know you.
3. You are not defined by test scores. Tests don't measure things that are really important. They can't see your compassion or kindness or courage. You are so much more than a number or an acceptance letter. Never forget that.
4. Never base your self worth on a number on a scale. "Fat" is not the worst thing a person can be. "Fat" is not worse than vain or cruel or arrogant. I would much rather you define yourself as intelligent and clever and brave and a thousand other things before your physical appearance comes to mind.
5. Read Harry Potter.
6. You will never have to do anything to make me happy. Now, I'll probably make you play basketball when you're little, but if you hate it, you can quit. You don't need to play sports or be good at music for me to love you.
7. I know how crippling it feels to be left behind and if someone doesn't fight to be close with you, they do not deserve you. Trust me, I know it hurts. I'm sitting here writing this to you as an 18 year-old freshman in college who feels as though the world is going to fall apart. As challenging as a time may be, I whole-heartedly believe that things will work out for the best in the end. Never lose hope.
8. There is no secret that you need to keep from me. I will always be proud to call you my daughter.
9. There will be times when it feels as though the world will come crashing down beside you. Trust me it does get better and in those nights when you can't fall asleep because you are so worried about how things may turn out, I will hold you and wipe your tears.
10. Someday, you will find someone who makes your heart skip a beat and tells you they love you more than anything else in the whole world. They will never be able to love you as much as I do.

I love you so much. There is nothing you can do to make me love you any less.

Love,

Mommy

Today the world stopped spinning.
It slowly came to a stop as the time counted down to zero
And the ball didn't find it's way through the orange circle.

What were we supposed to do?
We marched passed those who stopped our world, with tears streaming down our faces.
We made the longest walk back to the locker room together unable to hold back our sobs.

We sat in silence because who knows what to say in moments like these.
Even our stone-cold coach was unable to conceal the tears streaming down her face.
Four years of work came crumbling down and there was nothing we could do to pick up the pieces.

For the last time, I unlaced my ankle braces
and threw my beat up toxic-smelling shoes in my bag
and embraced the girls who had become my family.

You see, for some, it's just a game,
But for me, it was my world.
So today, the world stopped spinning.

Why does love always have to be so romantic?
Why can't we tell someone we love them, without the fear of it "coming out the wrong way."
So I'll just say it:

I'm in love with you.
I'm in love with the way you make me feel welcome.
I'm in love with the passion you have for beautiful things.
I'm in love with your gentle spirit.
I'm in love with the way you make me want to be a better person.

I've found someone I need in my life. Now I just wish I could do the same for them.

I just keep thinking it over.
The wave washing over her one final time.
The panic when she didn't come back up.
The heartbreak of a phone call home.
The days long search to find her.
Her curly hair as the pulled her onto the boat.
The simultaneous relief and terror when the journey was finally over.

I remember seeing her curly head of hair bounce around just weeks before.
I remember when she shook my hand introduced herself to me.
I remember when she brushed out her curls to look like a lion for dorm pride.
I remember when she taught us how to swing dance.
I remember where she left her laundry detergent in the dorm basement.
She can't be gone. She just can't.

But she is. They found her. She's gone.
I can't imagine the crushing pain her family must be feeling that seems to become heavier with each passing moment.
She deserved so much longer than she got.

The only form of relief comes in the knowledge that Chase is taking on a new adventure;
One more beautiful and perfect than anyone could ever imagine.
She is resting in the arms of her Savior and waiting for the day we can join her.
"We know Chase is in His hands and safely home."

I yearn for the comfort of familiarity.
I miss the way it felt, to sit next to you and laugh.
I hear the things you say about her and I can't help but wish that was me.
I wish I could say I was happy for you.
I'm surrounded by people, but feel all alone.
I wish you were here to remind me of who I am.

It's funny, isn't it?
How we get older
and watch ourselves become,
exactly what we said we'd never be.
It's funny.

Some people say they're afraid of thunder.
I don't understand that.
I find it beautiful.
The howl of wind,
The pounding of rain from the midnight sky.

And then for a moment, lightning illuminates the darkness.
My heart beat quickens with anticipation.
I know what comes next.
BOOM.

Four simple letters simply can't do it justice.
I love the sound,
A sound so big it seems to swallow me whole.
If your lucky, it might last longer than an instant.
Maybe a second or two or three.
But in that second, it demands to be heard.

So powerful, yet somehow so calming.

Did I mention I love thunder?

Something special happened today.

On my drive to school, I saw something I thought had disappeared long ago:
Dry Pavement

I don't think you understand.
It's 24˚ and I'm wearing shorts.
It's a like a heat wave.
And that's 24˚ Fahrenheit, not Celsius.

I haven't seen anything green in four months.
Seeing grass on the side of the road is a simple miracle.
It whispers to the greater things that are yet to come.

As the sun shines through my bedroom window,
I think that maybe, just maybe,
Everything will be alright.

I'm done.
This is the end.
You are not in control of me anyone.
I am myself and if that's not good enough for you
I don't care.
Your approval does not define me.
Your ideals do not confine me.
Like they say:
*Lions don't lose sleep on the opinion of sheep.

So there I was,
Just scrolling thru Instagram,
When I had a realization:

I want a hammock.

I feel it beginning to take over.
It's small right now, but I recognize it immediately.
It starts with the uneasy feeling in my stomach.

"What can I do?"
Nothing.
"What should I do?"
Something.
"But what? "
Figure out for yourself.

Do something before it's too late. If you don't fight now, it'll be too late.
But why do I always have to fight?
Couldn't I be the one someone fights for?
Instead of always fighting for someone else?

The despair is beginning to creep in.
It's voice gets louder saying,
"You'll never be enough. You're not worth holding on too. You might as well just stop."

Despair is followed closely by helplessness.
"There's nothing you can do for yourself, so how can you expect others to help?"
"You're in this on your own."

Helplessness brings along his friend self-pity.
He tells me, "You don't deserve this. You can never catch a break. It's time for somebody else to get the short end of the stick."

Self-pity comes hand-in-hand with anger.
"This isn't fair. They are the ones who're wrong, not me. There needs to be justice!"

But you begin to mistake malice for justice.
"Make them hurt the way you do. Show them who is in charge. Show them what it feels like to be walked all over."

And malice hardens your heart.
"It's always like this. What is the point in caring for someone if you can just be hurt? You don't need others. Leave them, before they can leave you."

That is the way that loss begins to consume me.
It's only beginning, but I feel it coming.

And to think, all of this could have been avoided with one simple conversation.
All of this could have been avoided if someone could just believe there is good in me.

*What a shame.

Let’s talk about the one percent
No, not the one percent with fancy jets or foreign cars
But the one percent that is behind bars.

Yes it true,
One in a hundred are currently in prison
But what are we supposed to do?

Crime rates are dropping
But what do we have to show
While prison populations continue to grow and grow?

You see this isn’t just a war on crime.
Communities are being taken under siege one at a time.

Because sure it might be one percent overall
But according to the cops all the criminals seem to fall
Inside communities filled with minorities.

In some places it’s as high as 10 percent
Of young men being taken from their cities and sent
Away from their families and homes
Unable to provide for the people they call their own

Children are being taken hostage in this so-called war
Many forced to grow up poor
With just one income with which to buy
Necessities such as food and school supplies

And this doesn’t end when the fathers are free
It’s almost as though they must pay another fee
Because who would ever hire a criminal?
Many employers find such a thing unforgivable.

It’s doesn’t end there
Because the current state of our welfare
Does not allow felons to apply for aid
Such as food stamps or Medicaid.

It’s almost as though children are set up to fail
Once one of their parents is put in jail.
Without food or access to proper health care
Their chances to succeed become extremely impaired.

Children of felons are more likely to
Struggle with language and behavioral problems than me and you
But how can you blame them when
They are forced to go to school again and again
Hungry and tired simply because
There isn’t enough family income
To provide for their basic needs
And give them the tools they need to succeed.  

It’s a cycle you see
Of children growing up unable to be
Everything they can truly become
Because their lives are determined by a sum of
Stereotypes and unfair laws
And treating the symptoms instead of the cause.

And just because it is not happening here
Still means it’s something to be feared.
Because for thousands of children this is their reality
Unable to escape the totality

This problem is not temporary
And we can’t  just push it from our memory.
It’s our duty to give them a voice
It’s up to us, it’s all our choice.

Late nights are always the best nights.
Sitting on the trunk of a car,
As two shirtless guys ran screaming around the parking lot.
Watching an adorable couple walk out to their cars together.
Dreaming and wishing that we could be like them.

Talking for hours,
In a high school parking lot, on a Saturday night.
Who does that?
Sharing our feelings and hopes and dreams.
I felt so safe.
I can't believe I didn't know this before.

How have we gone this long not knowing how we are exactly the same.
I wish I had more time with you.
I hope, more than anything, that it's not too late.
Because I need someone who understands me the way you do.

A moment only happens once.
You don't know the value of that moment till it's gone.
Maybe a day later, maybe a year, maybe one second later.
But the moment is gone, never to be repeated.

The value of a moment is worth more than the value of a dollar.
A conversation more valuable than a pay check.
Life is not measured by a number with a dollar sign in front of it.

Life is measured in moments.
Love the moment.

I thought I was above this.
I didn't think anyone could make me feel this way.
But ****** you make me giddy
And I can't pull my eyes away.

You don't deserve it, but I forgive you every time.

I feel so small.
I see others making foot prints in the sand all over the world,
But I'm confined to my small corner,
Desperately trying to carve my name in some sort of stone.

Everyone wants to make an impact.
Eveyone wants to leave their mark.
But are those marks really scars left on the world.
Not our gift to man, but just another side affect of living.

We want to be noticed by the universe.
But why even try, when eventually, there will be nothing left.
Are your footprints any better than my lack there of?
Does it even matter?  

I sure as hell hope so.

I love when storms.
I've said it before and I'll say it again.
I love storms.

Today's storm features lightning that shoots through the sky.
Lightning so fast and beautiful.
You have a moment to enjoy one beautiful moment and then another follows right at its heels.

Rain is lightly tapping on my window.
Nothing overwhelming, a gentle touch, as if the water falling from the sky wants me to acknowledge that it is here beside me.

A storm like this is too beautiful to ignore.
So I walked outside.
The rain quickly made my shirt heavy.
But as the magic water from the sky weighed me down, I couldn't help but feel free.

I can't quite figure it out, but there is something joyous in the simplicity of allowing yourself to be swallowed in the sounds of a summer storm.

I told myself I was over you....
and I almost believed myself.
But ****** I can't escape you.



I guess I'm just a bad liar.

I'm intrigued by eyes.
They are so common, yet so unique.
Colors that shimmer in a way exclusive to their owner.

Eyes tell you more about a person than words.
It's as if a story is written in your eyes.
You just need to take the time to read it.

Maybe that's why some people are afraid of eye contact.
And maybe I'm just waiting for someone to read my story.

I wish I could hear you laugh beside me.
I wish I could listen to you obsess over some band I've never heard of,
and as soon as I get home memorize every one of their songs.
I wish I could hear you sing once more.
I wish we could look at each other from the corner of our eyes seeming to know exactly what the other was saying.
I wish I could feel like we ruled the world again.

But more than anything,
I wish I could stare into those pale blue eyes once more.

I wish somebody could see that I'm drowning inside my own mind.
I wish somebody would throw me a life ring and pull me back to sanity.

I don't know what I'm doing here.
See, my friend said it's a crime to be on hello poetry
And not to post an attempt at a rhyme.
But that's the best I've got
Because I'm content to sit and just read
To sit and just be.

I know I should be asleep.
It's getting late, and I have things to do in the morning.
But the thing is I just don't want to.

Daytime is always so busy and loud.
I love the quiet darkness.
A chance to sit and think.
Actually think.
Not think about stocking shelves or mopping floors.
Think about me. And you.

These moments never seem to happen when the sun is in the sky.
When these moments come, I feel the need to sit in them and soak up the chance to dream of how things could be.

Maybe that's why I have a hard time falling asleep.
Because the night is the only time I get to think of you.

In and out. In and out.
Everyone just seems to be passing through.
People just stay for a visit and never long enough to understand.
That was until I met you.

You made me feel special.
I had a friend.
We could laugh and dance and talk together.
And I was happy.
This was what it felt like to have someone stay.
But why should I expect anything different from what's happened before?  

There's the rub.
I let you get close. I let myself be happy.
But I'm left feeling the same as always now that you are on your way out.
You are needed somewhere else, I understand.
But can't you see that I need you too?

Man, what has it been? 3 years. Dang. 3 whole years.


Let me fill you in on what’s been going on. I’m 22. I graduated college and now I’m a middle school science teacher. Who saw that one coming?!?

Since we’ve last spoken, I’ve traveled to new states, cities, and even countries. I picked up a fondness for birding and have spent an inordinate amount of money on musical theatre tickets.

I read some of my old poems and I’m just like ‘Dang, why you gotta be so moody 19 year old Alex?’ I guess 3 years of distances gives you some wisdom. So to 19 year old Alex, calm down. You’re fine, you’re going to be fine. The world isn’t falling down around you.

You’ll graduate, you’ll get a job you adore, and you’ll finally get to go to NYC not once, not twice, but 4 times and planning a 5th for spring break.

Slow down and enjoy the ride.

Grief is a silly thing.

Just when I think I’m safe, it hits me.
Over and over again.
Like waves relentlessly crashing over the shore. Inevitable. Powerful.

And just like those waves, it fluctuates.
Undulates.

At times the waves of grief seem to crescendo. Peak after peak, bombarding the shore without ceasing. Only growing.
And other times, the shore lies calm for a second, with just the occasional small reminder that life is different now and will be forever.
That’s the silly thing about grief.

Everyone always called you silly.

Silly Jilly

From the first time I met you at a basketball camp when I was 16.
You were small but boy, were you mighty. Going into the scrap with the bigs without hesitation. In the midst of the competition, you still led with kindness above all else (a lesson I’m still working to learn all these years later).
And though through the inevitable distance that grew between things like graduation and college, I’ve enjoyed every unexpected encounter. I would give anything to run into you one more time.

You never let yourself be defined by a singular interest. I admire that. You’re one of 3 people who knew me in real life that has read my poetry. I don’t think I’m ready to share that with others yet, but I’m working on it. Writing seemed like the only fitting way I knew to say goodbye.

You moved through this world with such grace and power, leaving waves of light wherever you landed. Those of us who were lucky enough to have shared your light are left better for it.

And now we are all left with the remnants of that light you so graciously gave to all. It seems to be fading through the lenses of grief. But that light is still there, strong as ever, just shadowed behind the current clouds.

The thing about storms is that they never go away. The waves keep coming without warning. But we become masters at navigating the seas, stumbling blindly towards the light you left behind.

21 years was not enough and nothing can change that. We are all so grateful for the time that we had.