Toddlers can put green crayons in the freezer without
Anybody questioning them and I
Have a problem with that.
I have a problem with the fact that toddlers can put
Green crayons in the freezer and tell their parents that they are
Preserving
The Earth and that they’ve been learning about
Animal adaptations and conjunctions in school
And that they
Love
Their friends.
I have a problem with the fact that a
Toddler’s idea of
Beauty
Is a butterfly landing on their finger during
Recess, a snowflake on their tongue, the
Grogginess of  staying up past 8:30,
****** snacks, Dora the Explorer,
The satisfaction of scraping the
First chunk out of a tub of butter, the
Giddiness and fear at your first sleepover,
The one where you had to timidly shake your
Friend awake in the middle of the night because you could
Not for the
Life of you find the bathroom.
I’m not ashamed to admit that
I haven’t said I love you in a time that
Lingers like the smell of burning.
It’s always love you or love ya and I’ve
Forgotten what it feels like for those words to
Caress my lips, to guide my heart
Out of its cage into the
Stale air.
I want to be considering beauty like a
Toddler.  I want to be watching Dora and
Learning about conjunctions, but instead I’m
Crying because I can’t fit into my jeans right and I
Don’t know how to do makeup.  I want to say
I love you and let it
Ring in the air like
Frozen music
But I can’t
Because you’re
States away and instead I brush my hair
So many times for people who don’t even like me that
There’s no personality left.
I have a problem with the fact that you
Moved on so quickly and left me with the
Loves me not flower petal and that
Dora the Explorer is not on Netflix
Anymore and the price of Happy Meals goes
Up everyday like the age of my
Heart  
And that
Toddlers can put green crayons in the freezer without
Anybody questioning them and say that
They
Are preserving the Earth.

Never say things
to people you might regret,
because it may be
the last thing you ever say to them.

I was bleak
Dying upon the floor
I wished I had sought
The lost
The rare and radiant, the angels

Here

Untied shoelaces,
Untied heart,
Her words flowing freely from
Her mind,
Her black boots tapping a rhythm
Known only to
Her.
Her eyes bloomed like
Orchids
When she blinked,
And her chocolate fountain hair
Spilled over her gray graphic tee,
The messy bun
Unraveling
As her thoughts slowly
Unraveled
Themselves onto the page.

Dear Mom,
As I write this letter to you, I hope you realize how much you have hurt me. And that all you are doing is making things worse. I can't seem to say these words you face to face nor will you let me.
I'm sorry that I'm not the perfect 5 year old again. I'm 17 I make mistakes. I don't know what the hell I'm doing most of the time, but I will never admit to your face. But that shouldn't be your reason for your actions.
I don't want anything to do with you anymore. You have made life more of a hell these past few years then you probably ever will. But the drama needed to stop. But you didn't seem to realize this. I hope this isn't breaking your heart but you already broke mine. As I sit here I'm not crying, and I hope you aren't either. But honestly, everything I'm saying I have tried to tell you before. But you don't listen. I hope this letter would suffice for you, because you aren't getting anything more from me. I am done with you. I am done with everything you so call "have to offer". I tried having a relationship with you, you see how well that worked. You haven't seemed to show me you deserve another chance. I have always resented you for moving away from me. Always have and probably always will. But that isn't the only reason. As a mother your duties are to take care of me. I am your child. I come first before anyone and everyone, including yourself. This might be harsh but its the real world. Time for both of us to live in reality.  This is something you struggled with, this and making my life a living hell. But that isn't just it, you seemed to use me as a pawn or a spy for my dad, which i never seemed to understand why.  You just ditching me to go hangout with your friends isn't okay either. You will always be my Birth Giver, but you really didn't deserve the title Mom. I can't keep going down this road that I have been going down. It really has been enough. I'm done shedding tears for you, done stressing, and done sacrificing my life. Maybe in the future when I don't need to be dependent on you. But right now I don't need you in my life. You are basically destroying everything I have tried to build and re-build in the past four years. Many of my friend relationships have been destroyed because I took all my emotions to them at the age of 12. What normal kids has these emotions? I bottled them up and expressed them at the worst times possible. That is what happens when your the kid of ill mother who strains every part of you. I'm sorry if this isn't something you wanted to hear. But this is what I need say. I wish you the best in life and all your health issues. I will always love you, but right now this is the best thing I can offer.

Would you shut up for five seconds?
I wish I could say this to your face,
But you'd demolish my feelings.
Lecture me about my age.

I don't have to grow up yet.
Better yet, I refuse to.
Age is just a number to me.
I ignore your opinions, I have my own views.

Her creamy chocolate hair
Flows down into caramel,
And the ends tickle her rosy lips
As she bites them in concentration.
Her Ticonderoga taps anxiously on her cheek,
And the wheels turning in her head;
Almost visible.
Maroon sweater against ivory shoulder,
Caramel hair against a black bra strap.
When she talks, the room melts away
And all that is heard is her accent,
The way she creates music with her phrases.
Her smile radiates sunshine,
And her eyes are a kaleidoscope,
Always changing,
Green and gray and amber specks
Colliding to make a sweet mosaic.
Poetry girl,
The universe can’t wait to hear
Your words.

They said
Don’t wear leggings
Or a shirt that shows your cleavage
Because you need to be covered up
You’re a distraction

They said
Don’t use your period as an excuse
For male teachers to let you go to the bathroom
Because you’re not fooling anybody

They said
Don’t shave your head
Boys can
You can’t and don’t
And won’t because we’ll suspend you

They said
Watch the length of your skirt
The colour of your hair
The shoes and makeup
The piercings
And they call that fair

They said
Come to us if something is wrong
if you’re feeling bullied
if you feel unsafe
I guess they don’t remember asking my friend and I
if we heard of anyone in our year with suicidal tendencies
They asked us because
We were the sensible ones
The bright ones
We couldn't have been depressed.
I guess they didn’t see my panic
and my hand squeezing my wrist.


Because school
Is not a place
Where you can express who you are
School is not the place where you feel safe
It's a battle ground on the outside of your comfort zone.

School isn’t about education
Its a challenge, competition
Its a measurement of your capabilities  

But what if you don't excel?
You’re called out for not being good enough
You're humiliated. Mocked.

You get looked down on
Judged
Embarrassed
And you don’t get your
Degree

As if a degree explains who you are
What you’ve been through
How much you’re worth

As if a degree
Measures the capacity
Of your heart
And your knowledge

And a teacher can share your grade
Make a joke and smirk
Cause they think you’re not worth it

And they can laugh and yell and call your parents
Who don’t think you’re any better.

Because year after year they’ve been led to believe
that you’re easily distracted
that you don’t do what you’re told
that you’re rebellious

Because even if you showed respect to the hypocrisy
That you can't help but notice,
They still won’t understand that you're just fighting
for what you believe is right, for mutual respect.

Because that’s not what you were thought.
You were thought to raise your hand when you want to speak.
And even if you made a valid point
You would still get lectured on putting your hand up when you want to speak.
Discipline put first.

**And that is my definition of school