If freckles were lovely, and day was night,
And measles were nice and a lie warn’t a lie,
Life would be delight,—
But things couldn’t go right
For in such a sad plight
I wouldn’t be I.

If earth was heaven and now was hence,
And past was present, and false was true,
There might be some sense
But I’d be in suspense
For on such a pretense
You wouldn’t be you.

If fear was plucky, and globes were square,
And dirt was cleanly and tears were glee
Things would seem fair,—
Yet they’d all despair,
For if here was there
We wouldn’t be we.

five years old.

a wobbling mass of uncertainty
perched haphazardly on a bike.
daddy holds me upright,
his strong hands refuse to let me fall.
pedalling, pedalling, faster and faster
a weight releases
at last, I'm flying.

six years old.

first day of first grade
I clutch onto my mom's hand
so many children, both familiar and stranger
letters, numbers, a line on the wall
a smiling teacher. I let go of her hand
sit in a green desk, grab a crayon
one last glance out the door
but she is gone.

ten years old.

suspended in the cool water
skis strapped awkwardly on my numb feet
a lifejacket rises tight around my neck
my mom behind me, holds me
right side up in a firm embrace
suddenly, a massive force
pulls me up out of her comfortable arms
through the deafening spray of the water
my mother cheers.
I'm gliding, and I've never felt so free.

sixteen years old.

my hands caress the steering wheel
dad's in the passenger seat
cautious, careful, I proceed
the open road ahead of us
we pick up speed, but then
a deer. his hand grabs my shoulder
my foot slams on the brakes.
I'll pay more attention when I'm driving alone.
we take a breath. we're safe.

eighteen years old.

I scan the crowd as I sit in
my crisp blue robe. my strange square hat.
no more unfamiliar faces.
just layers and layers of memories
blended on top of each other.
my name is announced
I stand up, cross the stage,
again, a mass of uncertainty.
again, awkward in my high heeled shoes
my dad holds my mom's shoulder
my mom clutches his hand.

once more, I'm forced to let go
in order to move forward.
a diploma replaces my mother's hand
crushing realization replaces my father's security
again, I'm flying
but things will never be the same.

c.l.c

you know how you drive by creepy abandoned buildings really slow just for the thrill? you think "woah that's creepy. someone was probably murdered there or it's haunted." but you never really know unless you go inside. just about everyone would hesitate going into a creepy abandoned building, but wouldn't blink twice about going into a giant fresh estate. imagine going into the abandoned building to find it newly furnished and spankin' clean. then imagine going into the fresh estate and finding holes in the floor and everything covered in an inch of dust. i am the latter. i look nice on the outside and seem to have a lot going on. but without hesitating, take a step through the front door. hear it creak? be careful. you'll get tangled in the cobwebs, and your coat will get hooked on the loose nails. i'm sorry; i don't want you to leave. if you really want to, explore the whole house and maybe even stay the night. but if you want to leave in the morning, that's alright. it's dark and smells musty from the hollow memories scattered on the living room floor. i filled the cracks in the ceiling with peoples' failed attempts at loving me. i'm sorry it's so dark and cold here. i used all my matches trying to keep the last person from leaving. i've swept the floor countless times but i can't brush off what he said. i get bored because i've read every book on the shelf and they all end the same: exactly how they wanted it. i know they're fiction because this is not how i wanted it to end. why don't i just leave, you ask? well, i don't have a key. but there's no lock on the door. that's why you can get out, but i can't. so maybe it's not the building that's abandoned, maybe it's me.

a.h.d.