Their confusion was real.
His chief stating feathers swayed down his back,
While he laughed with the children,
And made sure they were always happy,
For they could do no wrong in his eyes.
He adored his leadership,
He raised his head proudly,
And smiled a gentle smile.
His people would never doubt him,
For he had led the longest.
But one day,
He threw his feathers into the river,
Said a solemn, short goodbye,
And walked down a trail of tears to join another tribe.
Nobody quite understood,
He was so happy, so loving,
The one to look up to,
But they never saw him again.

So they say I’m a quiet one.

[Insert stint of dramatic silence here.]

It’s true.
This little mouth does not say much.
I chew on my opinions until they've lost their flavor.
I only own up to feelings if I get them down on paper.
What goes in, you see,
doesn't always need to come out.  

But just because my lips aren't constantly quivering with
quips and quotes
                       and qualms  
                                        and questions
about this world and everything in it,
doesn't mean
that these lips
can’t.

See, my psyche, she’s like an organic centrifuge—
Spinning so fast—she only appears to be standing still.
Spinning so fast—she doesn't have time
to make the connection from mind to mouth.
Spinning so fast—she’s silently grateful
that those hovering thought bubbles
can’t exist in reality.

Honestly, if they could,
she’d be royally ******.

I’d love to slow her down.
I’d love to turn her off.
But the power switch has been broken since 1988,
when all of the muddled beauty in this world
came barreling toward her all at once,
and the switch snapped.

She’s been turned on ever since.

[Insert stint of dramatic silence here.]

There’s just not enough time
for me to flesh out everything on my mind.
Oxygen is precious,
and they keep cutting down trees.
I won’t waste my breath—
I’m okay with keeping quiet.

I've found that
just because they can hear you
                                  *doesn't mean they’re listening.

She lives a quiet life,
she tiptoes around,
she whispers when she speaks,
she hardly ever makes a sound.

Although her words are quiet,
her mind is very loud.
She has so much to say,
but no one listens for soft sounds.

She's an invisible girl,
who doesn't want to stand out,
she just wants to be heard,
without having to shout.

Sometimes the loudest people,
aren't saying much at all.
Empty words and promises,
just leave their mouths and fall.

But whispered words fly high,
and catch peoples attention,
they're intriguing, so amazing,
but only when they listen.

So look outside the spotlight,
because often the real star,
isn't anyone on stage,
but the mind behind it all.

Ask me what it feels like to be dead inside. Go ahead. Ask.
I know you're curious.

It's like swimming in circles.

You can't see the shore and you can't see past the surface of the water. You're moving but you're not making any progress and it's frustrating. Your muscles are on fire and you're hungry but you keep going because what else is there to do? You could stop and just wade but you know that if you do that you'll give up that much quicker. You wonder what it would be like to surrender and let the water wrap you in it's unknowable depths for the rest of time. You wonder how deep it is and what it's like down there but you figure you'll end up there inevitably someday anyway so you keep going for the time being.

You can change the way you move through the water and how fast you go but you never stop swimming. There's a variety of weather and waves you experience. Sometimes it's nice and the water is calm and you can forget about the emptiness you feel inside and do the backstroke to feel the sunlight on your cheeks but other times it's cold and the choppy waves smash into your face and sting your eyes and all you can focus on is your breathing over the burning in your joints. Nevertheless, you swim and swim and swim without any destination, waiting for the next change to come.

You do a lot of thinking. You wonder what it must be like to feel anything other than longing and discontentment and exasperation. You ponder the big questions and answer the little ones and you try to fill the void inside you with complicated concepts and pretty words. You thoroughly analyze yourself, coming to terms with everything that makes you what you are. You're not happy but not sad either. You're not even somewhere in between. You gave up crying a long time ago because it never helped anything but you still laugh when you get the chance. You're very practical and proud of your cognitive abilities but you also suspect that they are the reason why you don't experience emotions the way other people seem to. You once read "Those who are sensible about love are incapable of it" somewhere and you think just maybe that applies to all the feelings you don't feel. This almost makes you feel distraught, or maybe you just want it to. Regardless, you contemplate anything and everything to distract yourself from the never-ending circles.

You swim and swim and swim and swim because that's all you can do and all you want
all you've ever wanted
is to feel alive
but you don't know how.

And that, my friends, is what it feels like to not feel anything at all.
Swimming in circles.

Dear NASA,

I read somewhere that voluptuous women
do well in zero-gravity environments.
This makes complete sense to me
(and the “ladies.”)
Trust me, I've seen the pictures—
and we want that.

Hear me out.

Gravity's a drag.
Bras are too ****** expensive.
I feel like I’d manage to look twenty-five
for another twenty-five years
if I could somehow
avoid the sandbaggage
that I'm doomed to inherit.

It's a comfortable thought
to picture the once distressed,
top-heavy lady population
floating in ecstasy,
brassiere-less and beaming—
soaking in a  freedom so sweet
that a word just couldn't do it justice.

I think I speak for the whole
of my curvy comrades  
when I say that we'd appreciate
your cooperation in getting the lead out
as you breach the final frontier.

Because let me level with you:
there are plenty of things in this world
that can bring a girl down—
our most enjoyable assets
should not be two of them.

Please join us in the fight to stay ****.

With the warmest gratitude,

B

our time was always
borrowed,
our lives weren't
our own,
all we were meant to have
were hours,
and what a mess
we've made
with those.

if I should die today,
I would die without
ever having been
to China
without having read
Hemingway
with so many things
unseen
undone
still waiting
but knowing
that you love me.
if I should die today
I would be alright;
but if I had a choice
I'd rather die
having been to China
having read Hemingway
having seen your hair
slowly turning grey
having bought a house,
having lived in France,
when I'm nearly a hundred
and in your arms.