My Country Tis of Thee,
Sweet land of liberty-
Or so we sing.

Land where my fathers died-
But my forefathers died in a battle
Trying to keep their slaves;
My fathers killed your fathers
For trying to run away;
My fathers **** your fathers
Cause it's late at  night, and
He's reaching for his gun-no, wait,
His ID?

Land of the pilgrim's pride-
But so often we leave out of history
How if it weren't for a Native American,
The pilgrims would've died.

From every mountainside-
Like Stone Mountain in Georgia,
Where Rebel Generals are memorialized,
Where the **** was revived-
God, help me, I can't hear freedom's ring;
I can only hear white-washed history.

From every mountainside-
But these days, the mountain is in my chest,
And liberty's ring sounds a lot different,
And a lot of folks don't like it.

Let freedom ring-
And I want to fight for freedom for all-
#BlackLivesMatter-
I want to help-
HANDS UP, DON'T SHOOT!
But-
I
Can't
Breathe.

Let freedom ring!-
But peaceful protests turn into
Bloodbaths as those who have sworn
To serve and protect are sniped down.

Let freedom ring!-
I try to educate myself
On the side of history not taught-
I've always felt that Nat Turner was the bad guy,
But these days I'm questioning it.
I read "The Meaning of Fourth of July for the *****"
by Frederick Douglass
And I read "Bury Me in a Free Land"
by Frances Ellen Watkins Harper
and I read "Sympathy"
by Paul Laurence Dunbar
and I read "Letters from Birmingham Jail",
"The Mountaintop Speech", and
"I Have a Dream"  
by Dr. King.

When I was younger,
I'd research Dr. King & his colleagues
For fun.
I'd  wonder, "If I lived in the Civil Rights era,
What would I have done?"

But when I turned seventeen,
I realized, "I live in a Civil Rights era;
What am I going to do?

I hope they find me
Surrounded by poems that
Are yet unfinished.

Hemingway said,
"Write hard and clear about what hurts."

And I'm hurting.
And it's muddled.
And it's clear all at once.

But I know this:
It hurts hard.

When part of your heart
Up and leaves-
Even when you know that it's coming-
It hurts like part of your heart was up
And cut out.

It hurts like when you get home
And you run in-
And no one's there to greet you.

It hurts like when you sit at home-
And the piano keys are dusty.

It hurts and it's deafening
And deadening-
And the silence is overwhelming.

It hurts like a coffee *** that doesn't get empty,
And a grocery bill that goes down.

It hurts like unworn shoes in a closet
And it hurts like unwashed sheets
On an unused bed.

It hurts like borrowing his clothes
And reading his books
And writing him letters.

It hurts hard
And clear
And muddled
All at once.

It hurts like goodbye.

I smile
    
         But I am     sad.

A hard place to be
Different; and an easy
Place to become hurt.

I remember bumping into you
At the grocery store,
Looking at produce.

And I was looking at pears
And you were looking at apples.

You called "Hey!"
And I suddenly wished
I had worn make-up that day.

But I couldn't ignore you,
So I said "Hi"
While butterflies in my stomach
Shone through my eyes.

We made small talk,
Talked about the weather,
My family,
Yours.

Then the conversation turned to apples,
And you asked my opinion.

I've never been good at short answers-
This time was no exception.

"Well,"
I said,
"I think apples can be a metaphor
For humans.
Some people are sweet
But if they go too long without love,
They turn rotten.
Others are sour
But that's what makes them
Sweet.
Some are loved as soon as they come in,
And others get passed around
And never picked,
Dropped and bruised,
And they are thrown away
Before they can go bad."

You nodded and listened,
Obviously paying thought.
"Do you have any others ideas on the merits
Of apples?"

I started to blush,
I wanted to bite my tongue,
But for some reason,
I offered,
"Only that I've heard-
I don't know if it's even true-
That in Ancient Greece
Throwing an apple at a woman
Was considered a marriage proposal."

You raised your eyebrows,
Chuckled,
And picked up an apple,
Looking at  it in your hand,
"Catch!"

I shall not fear the
Dark, for the brightest of lights
Shines within my heart

The walk of life is hard,
And sometimes we skip
And sometimes we dance
And sometimes we stumble
And sometimes we fall.

People always tell us
That it could be worse
Or it could be harder,
But honestly,
Sometimes you just don't care.

And sometimes it seems deeper
When you think of how sadness
Makes you appreciate happiness.

But sometimes life is hard,
And you just wonder
How it could ever be happy again.

And sometimes you're happy,
But you're scared,
Because it could be taken
Away.

But life is tears,
And sighs,
And songs,
And laughter.

Life is sadness,
And sorrow,
And joy,
And happiness.

Because a baby's first footsteps
Are always followed
By a baby's first fall.

Flowers only come
After rain clouds,
And bright light,
And breaking through a shell.

Life is sweeter
After storms,
And bright times,
And breaking through your shell.

One day I'll see the world,
Have dust on my feet
From a thousand different lands.

I'll travel with dusty feet,
Musty books,
Camera in hand,
Adventure beckoning me on.

Maybe I'll have no home,
I'll be a wanderer-
Maybe we need more gypsies-
Maybe I'll have
Barely a penny to my name.
I'll spend it all on plane tickets,
I'll earn my roof and food
By telling stories,
Penning poems.

Maybe when I'm an old lady,
People will tell stories
Of the crazy girl
Who came from a town so small
She had to travel the world
To find out more
About who she was.

Maybe people will be talking
Before I've even left,
About the crazy girl
With crazy dreams
Who's going to do crazy things
And change a crazy world.

But being called crazy
Is a small price to pay
To do things no one's done.

It just means I realize
The stars aren't so far away
If you know how to believe.

It just means
I'll have stardust
On my feet
From a thousand different suns.

"Why are the poet's eyes always sad?"
A little girl asked me once.
She saw me furrow my brow,
And continued with her question.
"You see,
No matter how big you smile,
Or how hard you laugh,
There's always something there.
It's like you've found
The Great Sadness,
And you have to bear it all alone."

I nodded my head,
Fingers on my chin.

Why is it that the poet's eyes are
Always sad?

I'll answer your question
Like I did hers.

To be a poet,
You have to feel every emotion.

You have to know what it's like
To swim with the sharks
And survive,
And you have to know what it's like
To swim with the sharks
And die.

Poets have to know what it's like
To hear a baby cry for the first time,
And what it's like
To hear a mother sob,
Because her baby came quiet
And left without a fight.

We feel every
Great Happiness
And we find every
Great Sadness.

Why are poet's eyes always sad?

It's because the poet
Is always sad.

Once you find
The Great Sadness,
You can never rid yourself of it.

But if you look closely
In a poet's eyes,
You can always see
Happiness
And you can always see
Joy.

Because a poet
Has to feel every emotion,
He feels them all at once
And they can't be hidden.

In every poets' eyes,
You see happiness,
And you see sadness.
You see joy,
And you see pain.
You see love,
And you see loss.

Why are the poet's eyes always sad?

I think it is better to ask,
Why are the poet's eyes always smiling?

Whether or not you
Do what's right should never be
Dictated by man.

There's poetry in his eyes,
And music in his footsteps.

I could never fall in love with a writer,
Because I'd treat life like a game.

I write
And you write
And we'll see who writes better.

I could never fall in love with a writer,
Because it would make the hard times harder.

I cry
And you sigh,
Let's pray life doesn't leave us bitter.

I could never fall in love with a writer,
Because we'd both be metaphor-fighters.

I'll swing a fist,
You'll block, take the hit,
And we'll tumble down the stairs of regret.

I could never fall in love with a writer,
Because we would be wonderfully mad.

I'll buy the paint,
You buy the brushes,
Let's paint the town red.

I could never fall in love with a writer,
Because he would remind me of me.

I could never fall in love
With anyone so vain
And so impatient
And so selfish
And so conceited
To claim they could never
Fall in love with a writer.

If you go to the dictionary,
Flip to the letter L,
Find the word Lovely,
It'll probably be defined as
"Charmingly beautiful,
Beauty that appeals
To mind and eye."

But to me,
Lovely means all that
And more.

Lovely means
Being love,
Even when it means
Getting your hands *****
And feeling unbeautiful.

Lovely means
Getting up at 12:00 am
To change ***** diapers
Or calm someone down
After night terrors-
Because even if what you're doing
Isn't very lovely,
But you do it out of love,
That's when you are most lovely.

Lovely means washing the feet
Of those you hate-
Doing it with a smile
On your face-
And that's when you look
Most lovely.

Lovely is
Washing laundry
For the one thousandth time,
And cooking supper for your family,
Even when you're all cooked-out.

Lovely is
Giving birth
To the earth's Savior
In a *****, rotten, ugly-lovely stable
On a cold night.

Lovely is
Being beaten
With a cat of nine tails whip,
Hanging on the cross,
Bloodied brow,
Grieving heart.

Lovely is sacrifice,
And pain
And bleeding forgiveness
And scars of heartache
From what some would call
"Loving too much"
But if you live lovely,
You know you can never
Love too much.

Lovely is more
Than lipstick
And blush,
And fluttering your eyes
And faking the right smile.

Lovely is
Getting hands *****
And loving until
You don't think you can,
And then loving with all you have
And more.

Lovely is
More than being beautiful,
Lovely is living life
Beautifully,
Even when it means
Being unbeautiful.

I'm doing fine.
(What I won't say is)
I hope you're doing well.
(Everyday I cry.)

I went to the doctor yesterday
(I didn't need him to tell me)
He said everything looked fine.
(That my heart was breaking.)

I went to the Post Office
(The guy who works there)
And mailed a letter
(Still remembers when you worked here)
To anywhere
(And a brown-haired girl came in)
For the second time
(And wanted to mail a letter to anywhere.)

He eyed the smudged ink,
(It's hard to write)
Felt the wet spots,
(When you're busy crying)
And mailed it.
(It's the letter you'll never read.)

I don't remember exactly what it said
(I was half-asleep)
But the next morning I woke up
(And full of regrets)
With ink on my hands
(But there were words on my heart)
And a letter sitting beside me.

Since you won't read it
(I hope you never see it.)
I guess I'll just let my pen tell the paper
(And I pray you never read it.)
That my heart is breaking
(But pain doesn't change)
And my mind is racing
(The fact that I'm happy me & you was us.)
Trying to keep up with where you could be.
(Even if it was only a little while.)

Hello.
Salut.

Goodbye.
Au revoir.

No matter the language
They are both the same.

Hello is my heart
Waking
And goodbye is it
Breaking.

Sticks and stones
May break my bones,
But words will
Leave me dying.

Sticks and stones
May tear me down
But words will
Tear me up.

Sticks and stones
May ****** and bruise me
And everyone asks "What's wrong?"
But words leave me looking fine
And everyone expects me to act
Like I'm always alright.

Sticks and stones
May kindle my fire,
But words will put it out.

Sticks and stones,
Fire and ash,
Daggers and swords-
These things I do not fear.
But leave me alone
In the presence of words-
And terrifying things you'll hear.

Sticks and stones
May break my bones,
But words will break my heart.

Sticks and stones
May break my body
But words will crush my soul.

Sticks and stones
To be used for good
Can render
Warmth
And homes
And smiles.


Words to be used for good
Can change this very world
And change your very heart.

“They say love is blind,
And I think that’s true,
Because sometimes
Love makes you blind
To your beloved’s flaws.

But I think love
Has 20/20 vision,
Because it means
You see someone’s flaws
As something beautiful-
Because mama loves the fact
That daddy has too-big feet,
And daddy loves that
He has to bend down 12 inches
To give mama a kiss.

I think love is tone-deaf,
Because even though daddy can’t sing,
Mama loves to hear him try.

I think love hears every tone
And every sound in between,
Because daddy can tell mama’s mood
Just by how she sighs.

I think love is passionate and crazy
And never makes sense,
Because my parents moved
Five hundred and forty-two miles away
Two weeks after they said “I do.”

I think love is simple and stubborn
And level-headed,
Because Daddy proposed in a car-
Didn’t even pull off to the side of the road
Or get down on one knee-
He just pulled out the ring.

I think love is paradoxical,
Highly illogical,
As painful as a bullet-wound,
As breath-taking as a lady in red,
And as obvious as a wedding ring.

I think love is
Cleaning the kitchen
To make new messes,
And sewing new buttons
On old blue jeans.

Love is
“I do”
& “I did”
“I’m sorry”
“Please forgive me”
& “keeping no record of wrongs.”

Love is ***** dishes in the sink,
And their song coming on,
His hands slide around her waist,
And she turns around and
They dance.

Love doesn’t always make sense,
But it doesn’t always have to,
Because love is a walking contradiction,
And mama and daddy contradict best.”

One day I'll fall in love.

I'll fall in love with his eyes

And the way they look into mine.

I'll fall in love with his name

And the way he says mine.

The way he holds my hand

And I feel safe.

How he protects me,

Even when I don't need it.

How he reads my mind.

How we run together.

How we run towards the cross.

I'll fall in love

With half my heart

And together we'll finally become whole.

One day I'll fall in love

And it will be wonderful

Because he is.

It will be magical

Because he is.

It will last forever

Because love is longer

Than the one day you fall into it.

I saw this list
And it had all these ways
To build endurance.

It was all about being healthy,
Said you should stop drinking
Carbonated drinks,
Do more reps than you did last time.

But if you asked me
How to build endurance?

I'd say first
You pray.
You pray and pray
And ask for God to
Teach you
Endurance-
Which is basically asking
For trials and troubles.

And you enjoy
Every flower
And smell
Every rose,
Because
Endurance is about
Savoring the good times
While you're in the bad.

And endurance
Isn't one of those things
You set out to build.

It's one of those
Build it
Or be broken things
And sometimes
Build it
And be broken.

Because you never know
How much you can endure
Until the weight of the world
Is on your shoulders.

So if you asked me
How to build endurance,
I'd say prayer,
Trials and troubles,
Savor the flowers
In the middle of a hurricane,
Remember tomorrow
Will be a brighter day,
And drink carbonated drinks-
Because you never know
How long it'll be between.

What does a name tell you
About a person?

Because my name's Analise,
But at first glance,
It doesn't really seem to say
That much.

Analise means
"Grace,
Or devoted to God."
And if there is one thing I am not,
It is graceful.

I lisp and I stumble,
I'm awkward
And my temper can explode.

I should show more grace-
I've always heard
That it's receiving something you don't
Deserve.

So I guess
My name is a grace.

Because it reminds me,
Every time I sign it,
Of what I am not-
Graceful-
And what I should be-
Devoted to God-
And I don't deserve those reminders.

Because I do read my Bible,
And I'm not a horrible person,
But I lose my temper
And I say things I shouldn't,
Do things that would be best left undone.
But I'm still being refined,
And still being renewed.

I'm learning to exercise grace,
I'm learning to live up
To my name.

I'm learning to be graceful
And devoted to God.

I'm learning to be Analise.

“I’m an easy crier,
But sometimes I cry the hardest.
And my laugh doesn’t sound too pretty,
But I always laugh the loudest.

I’m a fast talker,
But I don’t lisp as much anymore.


I chew my lip,
I can’t tell you how many smiles
I’ve faked,
And if “I’m fine” is a lie
I’ve lost track
Of how many lies I’ve told.

Because I wear my heart on my sleeve,
I’ve earned quite a few battle scars,
But my heart’s always been for
The underdog.

I’m misunderstood,
Sometimes I laugh when I shouldn’t,
Sometimes I speak when I should only be seen.
I’m thin-skinned, not exactly loud-mouthed,
But if you gave me the choice
Of whether to whisper
Or shout,
I’d scream for all I’m worth.

I mess up,
I freak out,
I have nervous ticks,
Sometimes I use cop-outs.

I worry too much,
Sometimes I overthink,
Sometimes I don’t think enough.

I should be more careful,
I should be more selfless,
I need to practice grace,
Be less worried about my face.

But all these things
Make me
Me.

And yeah,
I need to be more selfless,
I need to not be vain,
But I’m going to have my struggles,
And someday they’ll be my past,
But I have good qualities too,
And they’ll always be part of me.”

I say "sorry" a lot.

I say it when you're sick.

"Sorry! Hope you feel better!"

I say it when I mess up.

"I'm sorry. I really shouldn't have acted like that."

I say it when you say you're bored.

"I'm sorry."

Sometimes you say I say it too much.

"Sorry, " I shrug.

Then I catch myself.

"Sor-oh, wait."

I say it when you complain.

"Sorry."

I say it too much.

And I'm sorry about that.

One day someone said

They hated that word,

Don't you dare say it around them.

"Sor-wait. My apologies?"

I say it too much,

Maybe I should just not mess up.

So I'm sorry I mess up,

I'm sorry I say sorry,

But I have to admit,

I'm not sorry to say

I love you.

Someone started to call me
Different,
Caught themselves,
"You're unique."

Ma'am, with all the respect in the world,
Everyone's unique,
But not everyone's different.

Because unique
Means that you're you.
Which isn't bad.

Different means
That not only are you you,
You're the hero in your story,
You've climbed mountains,
Sailed seas,
Saw a million sights unseen,
And dream in colors
No one else has thought to create.

Unique means that you're
Different from other people,
But to the same level they are.

Different means that you
Broke every mold,
Nothing about you is reminiscent
Of someone else.

I am my own person.
I have my own life.
I dance to my own beat.
I color outside the lines.

Don't try to be polite
And label me unique,
You won't hurt my feelings
By saying I'm different,
In fact,
You might make my day.


So unique is good,
Different is good,
But remember,
I'm different,
And that's not bad,
In fact,
I rather like it.

So don't think of different as bad,
Think of a green apple
In a bushel of red apples,
Think of the first autumn leaf,
And then,
Think of me.

Sometimes I am happy,
Sometimes I am sad.
Sometimes I don't feel anything,
Other times I'm mad.

But that's okay,
Because life is made of
Ups and downs,
Ins and outs,
Just don't sit in a corner
And pout.

Because life is made of
"Stand up tall!"
"Keep your head low"
"Nice to meet you"
"See you later"
And things we'll never know.

But I know what it's like to be happy
Because I've felt sad.
I know what it's like to feel nothing,
Because I've felt everything.

To appreciate sunshine,
You have to feel rain,
To rejoice in peace,
You have to feel pain.

But if you ever need to tell someone
What you feel,
Or that you don't know
How you feel,
You can come to me,
And tell me what you know,
That you don't know,
You're scared,
You don't care,
Just always know,
I'll be here.

I can't write and it scares me,
To think I've penned my last poem.

Life is more frustrating
Without my words on paper.

The ink is dry,
My mind is idle.

The words just won't come.

I stare at blank paper
And it terrifies me.

I can't fill it with words-
It's like a curse.

The words,
They just won't come.

I envy the writers writing,
I envy the poets penning.

My inspiration is gone,
My muse has died,
The words,
They just won't come.

I try to write,
I can't finish a

The words they just won't come,

So I write about how
I can't write.
And suddenly,
I can write!

The muse is alive!
The words,
They have come!
And suddenly,
The world is a little brighter.

And I can finish a thought.

You look beautiful today.


2. Thank you for being my friend. I have no idea what I would do without you.


3. You really shouldn't joke like that. Since when are racist jokes, jokes about eating disorders, learning disorders, and physical or mental disorders funny?


4. Tell me about yourself. Not just the warm fuzzy stuff. Tell me about the first time you fell off your bike, how you can’t listen to that one song because the memories are just too much, that you still check under your bed at night for monsters.


5. Ma’am, I noticed that you were crying. I just wanted to say that I’m praying for you.


6. I know you’re leaving soon. Thank you for showing me so much I wouldn't have known otherwise. I've had the time of my life. I’m going to miss you. A lot.


7. Look, you really shouldn't tease like that. I know you’re trying to be funny, but you’re just being a bully.


8. I love you so much.


9. If you need to talk about anything, I’m here.


10. I wish I had said nothing, because sometimes silence says more than words.

What's the likelihood
Someone ever writes
The same poem as you

That they realize how
Pretty it sounds when
A certain five words
Are strung together
To make a sentence.

Or that instead of
Comparing her beauty
To a temperature
It's more like a
Sunshine summer day.

Poets see and write
Of sunlight-catching
Rays, and how we see
Beauty in ashes,
Rose petals in dust,
The wonder in
The wanderlust.

But maybe writes
Isn't the right word
Maybe we should say
Discover.

Because poets know
Sometimes when you
"Write" a poem
It feels like more
Of a discovery.

I've heard it said
"People fear
What they don't understand."

So does that mean
They fear me?

Because I don't always understand myself,
And I don't understand exactly why I'm different
But I don't fear being different.

Sometimes I do things
And they don't understand why,
But sometimes the secret is
Neither do I.
But it doesn't scare me.
I wonder if it scares them.

I like being different,
But sometimes it's hard.
It causes bruises,
Leaves scars,
Because being different
Means sometimes
People make comments
They don't think you hear.
Maybe it helps them
Lessen their fear.

Just think of it like this:
I don't understand all the science behind
Stars
Or planets
Or sunrises
And sunsets,
But I still see them as beautiful.

For every person
Who's scared
Because they don't
Understand you,
There's ten people
Who find you beautiful
Because they don't understand.

Van Gogh said he would rather die
Of passion
Than of boredom,
And I wonder if that's why he shot himself.

Because in a dark and mundane world,
Where sometimes only dreamers
See the light,
It becomes a burden
To live with passion.

Oscar Wilde wrote,
"A dreamer is one who
can only find his way by moonlight,
and his punishment is that he sees
the dawn before the rest of the world."
Maybe he understood
Being a dreamer is a
Blessing of a curse.

Sometimes it doesn't seem fair
From a dreamer's eyes,
When I try to talk and say something
But no one understands.
And I breathe in-
"They'll never understand"-
Breathe out-
"Could anyone understand?"  

And everyone's perplexed
Because I cry
When they say I should laugh,
And I laugh
When they say I should cry.

Someone asked me
"What's your favorite flower?"
And when I said dandelions,
They told me they were weeds.
I said they are what you make them.

If you allow them to flourish,
They are flowers befitting a king.

If you think of them as weeds,
You won't see the beauty,
You'll only see grass
That won't grow,
Not flowers to pick for mommy,
Or what you need to make a flower crown,
And sometimes,
The more you try to rid yourself
Of dandelions,
The stronger they come back.

Just like dreamers.

If you see me
As a ****,
You won't see the blessing
In the curse.

But if you see me
As a flower,
Delicate
But stubborn,
Ready to be nurtured,
You'll see more of a blessing
Than a curse.

““I don’t know if you remember me;
The first time we met
I was thirteen
And the last day you saw me
You were eighteen.
I just thought I’d let you know
How things have gone.

I’ve gained two inches,
But I’d still like to shed a few pounds.
My hair’s still the same
Boring black-brown,
Even though it’s past my shoulders now.

I still bite my lip,
Lean back on my left leg,
Right hand on my hip.

Thunder storms still scare me,
And rollercoasters freak me out,
And I still hate
Being alone in my house.

I still take pictures
And I still paint with words,
And just like I promised,
I still play with my curls.

I still stick out my tongue
When I get annoyed
And I still keep a book
With quotes I love.

I still don’t wear makeup,
Because you gave me the courage,
And I still overdress
Like its my job.

I still remember
How it felt
On a picnic in the park
When you wrapped your
Fingers around mine.
And you whispered in my ear,
“I love you,
Always have,
Always will."

I still love you
And I always have,
Always will.
It’s still been
Several years since
I last saw you,
But I was just wondering
If you love me still?”

You were hungry tonight at midnight
And woke me up out of a dead sleep
For the fifth time in a row,
But I got up and fed you,
And that’s okay,
Because that’s what Mommies do.

Today you started to walk
And thought I was crazy
Because I videoed you
And talked about how that
Big guy named Daddy,
Who’s been here since day one,
Wasn’t here to see.
And I was squealing
The whole time.
But that’s okay,
Because that’s what Mommies do.

Today you started to talk
And your first word was
“Ma-ma"
And I laughed and cried
But that’s okay,
Because that’s what Mommies do.

Then you learned how to ride a trike
And soon after that a bike.
You looked at me like I was nuts
After I said something about how
You were growing up too fast.
But that’s okay,
Because that’s what’s Mommies do.

When you are ten,
And you’re upset
Because you played kickball
And you were picked last,
I won’t tell you it’s no big deal,
Because Mommy knows just how you feel.
I’ll tell you it’s their loss,
But I know right now,
It feels like yours.
Then I’ll hug you and we’ll get icecream
And talk about how we’ve never liked kickball anyway,
And that’s okay,
Because that’s what Mommies do.

Today I told you
That’s it’s okay to be mad
And it’s okay to be sad.
But when you’re mad,
Count to ten and
When very mad one hundred,
Just like Jefferson said,
And don’t let anger
Get the best of you.
When you’re mad
And you don’t know what to do
And the mad you have makes you feel sad,
You can come sit in my lap, even when you’re twenty-two,
And we’ll try to talk it through,
Because that’s what Mommies do.

When you’re sixteen,
And you like someone
But you don’t want to,
Because it doesn’t fit the Five-year plan,
I’ll tell you how I had a Five-year plan
But I met Daddy in Year Two
And a week before Year Three,
I knew he was the one for me.
So before Year Three
Was halfway done,
Daddy and I
Had the same last name.
And by Year Five,
Daddy and I found out
Soon there would be
A little baby in our house.
I’ll tell you how sometimes your dreams change
From traveling to Greece,
To wiping tear-stained cheeks
And that’s okay,
Because that’s what Mommies do.

When you go off to college,
Or maybe to China,
Like your aunt did,
To take care
Of babies who
Don’t have mommies,
Or wind up in the army
To protect your country,
Like your uncle,
I’ll be waving goodbye
And crying
Because it feels like
Part of me is dying
But that’s okay,
Because that’s what Mommies do.

I once had friend until
he fell in love with another.
I saw him everyday,
Even went out of my way
To see his lovely face.

We laughed, cried, talked.
I fell slowly, softly, soundly,
And he never knew.

I never knew until he came
With a ******* his arm
And it took all I had
To hold my tears back.

I introduced myself
Then cried myself to sleep
And wondered why
I hated her so.

She was funny.
She was smart.
Her voice was soft
like the perfect sunlight.
That’s what he said.

But to me, it was like
The thunder and lightning
That steals my breath away,
Not in a good way.

He said her touch
Reminded him of
The the rain falling
Fresh on his skin.

But to me, when we
shook hands, it was
The hail pounding on
My back when I looked
For a way out.

He asked why I didn’t show
To the movies when they
Asked me to go.
I told him I was sick.

Sick of pretending I didn’t care.
That I was happy. Sick of hearing
Her plan their wedding before
She even had a ring.
Sick of hearing her name the children
They didn’t have.
Sick of her having everything
I thought was mine.

He asked why we never talk.
I shrugged it off and told him I was busy.
Busy praying for them to end.
Busy wondering what if.
Busy trying to fix my broken heart.

Then one day,
I found out
She had a ring
He gave her
On my birthday.
And I cried.
I lied.
And I told him I couldn’t
make the wedding
Or do the portraits.
The ones I promised to do
when we were five.
I told him I was busy.
It was just life.
He said he always thought
I would be at his wedding.
So did I.

I thought
I would smile
Walk down the aisle.
And take his breath away.

Instead I cried.
I lied.
I didn’t watch her smile.
Walk down the aisle.
And take his breath away.

Instead, I hid myself away
Cried everyday.
Tried to talk myself out
Of a tragedy I lived.

They came back
from their honeymoon.
I lived in despair
And gloom.

Then one day,
Something changed
And I stopped being
In love with a memory.

I met them for coffee,
Apologized for my mistakes.
Then someone came and she introduced
Me to him.

The way he looked at me
Made me feel beautiful
The way he said my name
Reminded me of summer rain
And slowly, softly, soundly
I fell.

And this time he
was there to catch me.
I smiled.
Walked down the aisle
And we took each others
Breath away.

To the girl who sits behind me
On the city bus everyday:
I know they probably say
With your cat-eye and your beehive
That you look like you belong
Way back in the day
But I think you look beautiful,
Even more so yesterday,
When you walked onto the bus
with your hair down wearing tear-stains.
I think you looked best today,
With a messy bun and no makeup
Listening to a song
And laughing
While I tried not to smile

To the guy who wrote the poem for me yesterday:
I know you must work hard,
You come here at six in the morning everyday,
And I don’t know why
But when I look your way I feel safe.
I know you probably hear
That you should take a break
But I know what it’s like
To work hard
Because there’s not another way.
And I know they probably say
With your tattoos and your gages
You don’t look your age
And you shouldn’t have gotten the job,
But I think you look best
At five in the morning
When you’ve just woken up
And you’re sipping coffee
While we wait for the bus
And your hair’s all messy
And your tattoos catch my eye
And I try to read them,
But I don’t want to pry

To the girl who replied to my poem yesterday:
You can read my tattoos
Any time you like
And I think you look best
At six in the morning
When your eyes shine bright
And you sip your coffee
And don’t hide your delight
I like the way
You bite your lip
When you read a book
Or you’re thinking
Or bored,
It drives me crazy
How come we never talk?
Maybe one day,
Instead of poems at bus stops
We could go for a walk.
Well, I have to get off.
Your stop’s in a minute,
Try not to forget it.

To the guy who writes me poems at bus stops:
I feel like I know you better everyday,
But it’s really weird,
Because I don’t know your name
And you don’t know mine,
Which I think is fine,
Because if this turned
Into anything other
Than poems
At bus stops,
I’d probably scare you away
Like everybody else.
Maybe we should stop,
Before we both get hurt.
Signed tearfully,
The girl in the seat behind you

To the girl who told me to go away:
You wouldn’t scare me away,
Not yesterday,
Not today,
Not ever.
Please don’t make me leave
Like everybody else.
Signed hopefully,
The guy who writes poems at bus stops

To the guy who writes poems at bus stops:
My name’s Haley
And sometimes I close my eyes
And wonder what they call you.
I take pictures everyday
And that’s why I’m here at five
Or maybe six
Every morning
To capture the perfect sunrise.
Here’s the picture I got
Yesterday, just in case
You wanted to see.

To Haley,
Who gets up early
To capture sunrises:
My name’s Ryan and
I spend all day crunching numbers,
Praying they don’t crunch back.
The picture was beautiful
And I though that maybe
One day
We could meet for coffee
And turn this into something
More than poems
At bus stops.

To Ryan, the number-cruncher
Who stole my heart:
I’d love to go for coffee
And we can laugh while we talk,
Maybe I can even show you
My favorite place
In Central Park
And we can go for a walk.

Dearest Haley,
Who captures sunrises
And stole my heart:
I can’t believe it’s been
A year since we began
With poems at bus stops
And coffee while we
Watched rain drops and talked about us.
I know this may be too soon,
I pray you don’t think me a fool,
To believe a number-cruncher
And sunrise-capturer
Could have a happily ever after.
But what do you say
We give it a shot
And spend the rest of our lives
Telling our kids
About how a number-cruncher
And a sunrise-capturer
Had a fairytale wedding
And are living their
Happily ever after.