Sometimes,
lots of times,
I look back.

I fear I will turn to salt
like the taste of tears
reaching your lips.

I can't help it,
to turn back and look
it's human nature.

What do I look back at?

the good times
the bad times
lots of times

I'm different now
not bad not good not (yet) salt
just different.

when a boy shows you his hands
bare except for the dust
he’s begging you to look past
take them in yours.
squeeze them once.
twice.
say without speaking
that you understand that the valleys
in his palms were meant to cradle
shooting star wishes
that he’s allowed to still hope for.
when a boy shows you his eyes
of milk and crimson and melanin
a bloodshot vein for every night he can’t sleep
let him shut his eyelids.
say without speaking
that you understand that the black hole pinpricks
of his irises hold more than the universe
should allow.
when a boy shows you his soul
shivering but still working toward friction
iced over but still working toward melting
let him come to rest next to yours.
say without speaking
that you understand that he is lonely
and that his silence speaks volumes
and that you kept his treasure close
because you love him.
when a boy shows you his hands
show him your hands.
when a boy shows you his eyes
show him your eyes.
when a boy shows you his soul
show him that
this is a comfortable place to rest it.
when a boy shows you the hardness that shaped him
show him the softness
that you have in store.

we loved each other
with a love too catastrophic
and consuming
for mere teenage vessels
to carry.

it was too demanding
required too much thinking
made us bleed
without flinching

our hearts were baby birds
being forced by this magnitude
of feelings to jump
without knowing how to fly.

our hearts were still
starting to learn
how to love -
and it was too early.
it was too strong.
it was too high.
and babe,
we were too young.

who was it - walking down the school corridor?

a Spanish teacher?

an honors student?

a football player?

you'll never know; you didn't care.

did it feel good,
mister shooter?
to pull the trigger on

a mother?

a best friend?

a boyfriend?

to take the lives of family and friends and lovers of innocent people?

was seeing those who have hurt you
suffer by your hand
worth a life behind bars?


16 years old

yet you think you have the right to take away life?

10:00 A.M.
Battery: 100%

12:00 P.M.
Battery: 80%

2:00 P.M.
Battery: 67%

4:00 P.M.
Battery: 45%

6:00 P.M.
Battery: 30%

8:00 P.M.
Battery: 10%

10:00 P.M.
Battery: 0%

10:03 P.M.
Notification: You have one unread message:
from Andrea

"i love you ♥"

10:03 P.M.
...
Battery: 100%

“i was born to make biscuits”
and so we let him.
flour, butter, one egg, messiest
table in the hole entire county.
mom watches bug and the boys
roll in the leaves outside, and
greg and i drink coffee by the fire
in thick socks and knitted throws.
a burst of the season arrives with
each sibling but we smile anyway,
kisses and cold hands pressed on
our warm cheeks until we're all
the same temperature. pop's biscuits
are done, so we sit and don't say
grace- just thank each other for
the things we have which no one
else could have given us. mom's
already missing the birds, and
wendy says she thinks she found
one of katy's old hats in the back
of her garage last month and she
even brought it with her this time.
we talk and we laugh and the little
boys nap and we just are.
we just are.

Secrets create,
Enemies and friends.
Can start new trends.
Reveal new tech.
Endanger peace.
Turn blue to red.
Secret whispers.

Secrets welcome.
Extra income.
Conditional love.
Regretful outcomes.
Emotional sin.
The hidden grin.
Secret whispers.

Secret sounds.
Entrapped inside.
Craves to be found.
Results in lies.
Eats till it dies,
Till realized.
Secret whispers, do not hide.