behind the creaky old door,
in the middle of the hall
lay a shelf of forgotten things
the old board games,
a box full of mittens,
nana's yellow coat,
and that bright red sweater.

i had never seen that sweater,
i'd remember if i had
the threads are burning scarlet
and it fit me like a charm.

the moment i laid eyes on it
i knew that it was mine
its coarse wool clung to my body
like a kid clings to its mom
i wrapped the cloth around me
and knew that i was home.

i ran into grandma's bedroom
to show her my new find
only to see a weary look
and hear the catch in her worn voice
she said that the sweater was her father's
he wore it like a champ
his muscled limbs and
his pale skin
left it tight around his arms
and she looked at me once over
and then nodded her head
she said, that it fit me almost perfectly
and that it should be mine, instead.

so i walk these halls
in my bright red sweater
carrying my family history
and the smell of his cologne
to them it's just a fashion statement
but i know it's so much more
this sweater is the link
across generations,
across time,
to my long gone grandfather
who i never got to know.

the sweater is no longer
on the shelf of forgotten things
because my grandfather is gone
but this sweater proves
that he will never be forgotten.

there are certain feelings that have no parallel
moments that can't be replicated
like the last class of the day on a friday
it's chemistry class, and your teacher is speaking in his thick raspy voice and the words flow through you
you recognize that he is talking but you don't take in the meaning
your eyes and mind are focused on the clock
forty minutes forty minutes forty minutes
and the promise of the weekend fills your body to the brim with a hope that cannot be matched

you are sent to the back of the room to do a lab
and your partner is the same scrawny boy with the chestnut eyes and the softest blond hair that you have ever felt
he's lighting the bunsen burner while you fiddle with the fraying elastic on your decade old goggles
he turns to face you and smiles and you note that his smile encompasses his whole face, his brown eyes beaming at you behind the yellow tint of his safety glasses
you smile back at him and the idea of who this boy is begins to sink into your thoughts
this boy is neither friend nor foe
he is potential
he is a boy you never speak to except to copy notes and you realize that depending on a series of choices this boy could be either everything or nothing to you
the thought is overwhelming so you shove it away
right now, you are lab partners
and the simplicity of that makes you grin

there is sunlight pouring into the chemistry room on the west side of the third floor and it dances across the black lab table where you and the boy are fiddling with a test tube of copper sulfate
you do not speak, just work
hands in perfect synchronicity as you adjust the utility clamps and let the burner ignite
it is almost like a dance, a ballet of hands as your fingertips do pirouettes around each other, recording and observing and adjusting and other science class endeavors
there is a certain intimacy that goes with looking into someone's eyes through the glowing orange of fire coming from a secondhand bunsen burner
both of you are buzzing with the energy of friday but neither of you rushes, wanting to gather each detail, to memorize each beat

it goes fast anyways, and soon you are scrubbing a still warm test tube in the sink next to a girl with hair the color of the night sky
you let out a gust of air to dry the glass and the girl's onyx locks flutter in reaction to the newfound breeze
with one more glance at her, you turn and take your seat, tapping your foot to the rhythm of  the clock, and sitting silently next to your lab partner
you watch as his wide eyes dart back and forth across a page of a book as though he is a cat trying to catch a mouse
chasing the poetry and attempting to trap each word in his mouth, exploring the letters with his tongue

he smiles when he sees you watching and you smile back
then lean into your desk, close your eyes, and capture the moment

What is fear?
Is true love real?
How many times will I let a person hurt me before I give up on them?
Why are you so stupid?!
Why did you love him, he never loved you!
You are a fool.
An
Out-and-out,
Good-for-nothing
Rogue of a fool.
"Take back your life!" says the angel on my right shoulder.
"Face it, you're far too weak," says the devil on the left.
"A fat, ugly, wretched bit of garbage; a heavy burden on the world around you."
"No!" the angel cries. "You are strong! Beautiful, compassionate!"
I wish to listen to the angel.
But the figure on the left
Is
The
One
Who
Always
Wins.

Nothing but a hopeless
Romantic
Riveter of dreams and of schemes
Music-loving
Constantly-acting
Matter-of-facting
Unlikely
Poet.

in my dreams, i am a warrior
dueling with ghouls in my sleep
i fence with the demons and conquer the beasts
i am strong
i am fair
i'm complete

but waking up is a whole different story
my body seizes with fear
real life villains are harder to battle
and real life wounds much harder to feel
for there are demons and beasts in my own life
though they're not the ones in my closet
they're the ones in my soul screaming to get out
changing my feelings,making me doubt

they exist in the minds of the angry
and the men who teach our boys hate
they hide around corners and houses
taking kids far away from this place

then there are the ones in the dark
telling me i don't know my own heart
girls are nothing but playthings
their sick and demented dreamlings

so it's easier to stay safe asleep
cloaked in the warmth of my bed
because then i can be a warrior
even if it's all in my head

anywhere from the ages of eight to sixteen
girls start to learn how to clean the blood out of their clothes
to prepare for the war against women

because it's important for us to know how to hide the evidence
of our self-inflicted scars
the ones that we leave on our wrists
and our thighs
and our hearts

and it's even more important to know how to hide the bodies
of the men who don't understand that we're people
not just objects or wives
and that we are human beings
we have wants
we have needs
we have lives
and we must learn to defend ourselves against those
who can't seem to hear the word
no

from the time we are nine years old
woman is synonymous with soldier
and i'm ready for the war

there is a moment, when i'm in the shower
and i slowly begin to turn the silver handle to cold
i can feel the two extremes beating down against my skin
opposite temperatures battling for control of the small space
half of my body is braving an arctic winter
while the other half retreats, only to find the fires of pompeii
the two sides meet in the middle, and i smile at their contradictions
it is in these moments that i begin to understand my own life
the war waging inside of me is not dissimilar to this
my love of art and love of stability threaten to extinguish each other
leaving me with a love for nothing
i turn off the shower and collapse to the tile
i will make my decision tomorrow
but today i am a fallen soldier,
another casualty in a war of my own making