an oak tree stands tall in a field
she has been there for hundreds of years and she has no intent on moving anytime soon
she has grown
she has become a home to many who have come across her
she has seen a plethora of ordeals:
     love
     hate
     depression
     excitement
     birth
     and death
she knows all
yet she still keeps the same firm face

a storm hits her field
lightening fills the sky and thunder echos in the air
it is frightening
but the oak stays in her spot
and keeps her face firm

in the commotion
she is struck
a new orange glow bursts from her regular green and brown tones

she is ablaze

every piece of her is burning
a pain that could never be known fills her every atom
all of her friends scatter from her branches
saving themselves from the heat

she stands alone

she feels every inch of pain
she watches everyone she has ever known leave her
she is aware of the inevitable for not even the harsh rain and brutal hail can calm this blast

yet still
she does not move
her face stays firm and her screams stay shut within the bark till she is nothing but ash washed into the new mud of an old home

the orange glow fades as suddenly as it arrived
her residents find new homes
her pain is forgotten

what was once the center of this field
a reliable home
a being who knew everything that came with life
now knows only what she is: nothing.

being a woman in the 21st century is great

a past full of women who fought for us
for us to vote
for us to work
for us to feel safe
for us to be equal to our male counterparts

now i can buy pepper spray at my college bookstore

now i can learn to hate *** because i began to be sexualized at 11 years old

now i can walk down my street and only hope to blend in to all those around me so i don’t get yelled at by strange men

now i can have a one night stand and pray no mistakes happen and punch my lower stomach and pump my body with toxins as much as possible just in case

this isn’t even the tip of the iceberg
this isn’t even every struggle a woman must make

but can’t you agree that

being a woman in the 21st century is great?

i imagine her song soft and sweet

the vibrations of her vocal cords pulling me in as she sings

she is not the one to be afraid of

she is the one who brings relief after god’s wrath

her arms spread round my body like a mother  swaddling her newborn child

i do not fear her as she approaches
for she only wishes to bring care in this trying time

i fear the maker who gave me all i have
just to throw me away

growing up in theater i often heard that all the world’s a stage

logically, i always knew what those words meant, it’s a simple statement after all

yet it took me 19 years and a post-breakup one night stand to actually experience my stage

i was an actress, holding in myself and expressing who my audience wanted me to be

my audience need not know my true intentions, only what needed to be portrayed

joy, pleasure, tears, and pain were the four acts and i glided gracefully

and on the quiet ride home i studied my cigarette, my tired mind convincing itself it was no more than a stage smoke you could buy at the theatrical shop in valley junction

and it hit me

all the world’s a stage and my play is a tragedy

it's wood cut and clawed
markings of years of
misuse

built to be sturdy and strong
it's legs stir and shake
with every new addition

books
bags
even bodies

til one day

snap

i told you i hated july
the heat made me want to die
the lakes were too muddy and pools too crowded to find a place to cool
the city was too slow paced to find anything to do with the vast amount of free time
and any activity was too much for my wallet to spare

but it was all a lie
i love the sun
i love the lakes
i love the city and all the things it has to share

i really only hate july
because it's the month i had to stop being with you

once electric and new
        your strings put up a fight,
but now our ties have dwindled down
        and they are no more than strands of hair.
my counter is in disarray
        broken tiles lay at my feet,
but my rock is sharpened
        held in my hands waiting to strike.
now i just need to think
        am i about to be free
                or make my biggest mistake?

when i'm letting someone go i picture guitar strings
        plastic
                fragile.
then comes the knife
        the sharpest butcher's knife one has ever seen
                glistening
                        fresh.
with one fatal swoop
        impact is made and
                the strings are cut like
                        butter.
but your strings are different
        electric
                metallic
                        strong and built to last.
and suddenly my knife
        is but a rock on a stick
                it holds no chance
                        bouncing off with every hit.

There are too many poems about the sun shining through a dark day

But they're all true

When we feel we the weight of a thousand worlds bear down upon us

When we feel we cannot breathe without making a mistake

When we feel we are better off in the distant land that comes after life

There is a ray

It is a song

It is a book

It is that first sip of coffee on a cold day

It is mother nature

It is the people we hold dearest

The people who remind us that we are not alone

The people who strengthen us to push those worlds, to take those breaths

The people who remind us to stay here, in life

When I am my cloudy day
These people are my rays of hope.