So what if the butterfly in my stomach doesn’t rhyme with the sailboat that carries it’s weight in your lungs
You’re both my oldest and newest friend
And for fifteen months there was not a thing I posted without thinking about how you’d react
And for fifteen months I saw your name in every cup of coffee I drank and every stop sign I breezed through
Until I saw you look up at me from the bottom of my stairs
And I realized why I love this place so much
And why it feels so much like home
But daydreams are dangerous and sailboats sink
And eyes get weary and we’re lucky that fire when we were six didn’t burn our house down
Because maybe someday we’ll have other fires to deal with
And right now an hourglass is being hurled at my Achilles heel while your attention is slayed by waves and coffee shops
And distance is daunting
And September can suffocate
But two weeks is much sooner than two years
And second chances can save a soul swollen by salt.

We are here we are here

The six fields of hypocrisy changed the outlook of democracy

Call me a lost cause but I’m the hope of a nation that prides itself on miscommunication

It’s not so hard to start a conversation when you’re next to second best

And it’s not a bad reputation to be a self righteous mess

It’s a raging war on the politics of it all, if we’re all sinners then shouldn’t we all fall?

Keep your colors behind your eyelids and keep your lungs above your shoulders

Tell me to move boulders but you can’t even pick up the first stone to throw

And you call it the freedom of protest                          

Well I call it the freedom of detest and the sign of words too cruel to digest

But please your majesty, let’s avoid a travesty

And next time you call me a dent in your list of victories

I’d like to hear your sparkly clean history

And we’ll make a full loop back to hypocrisy.

Big houses make small people
and I’m sorry
that I turned you into a home
because now you’re stepped on
and you’re eyes
often look more like mirrors
than windows and
you’re full of empty rooms
that I planned on painting pale yellow
(like sunshine)
but never got around to because
I was more concerned with
burglars and break-ins so I locked
the doors with
iron and I threw away
the keys and I only realized that you
look abandoned when
I stood on the steps and
the grass wasn’t green.

Someone told me I’m like an elephant,
Too weak to break down barriers so that even when I become strong I still spend my existence thinking I’m tied by oppression when in reality I’m tied by routine.
This is my narration
I’m stripped of motivation and dressed with hesitation
Proof proof proof is like a whip to those who can’t understand what the voice in my hands is trying to say
And sometimes I fling televisions at trees and yell at them to watch movies instead of me because maybe then I’d grow tall and beautiful and they wouldn’t
And I wear boots up to my knees with little bruises peeking out of the tops where my bone meets my shin and I wear them like a hot new accessory
And I just panicked because I forgot how old I was.
Seventeen is a year for leopards that run faster than the moon revolves around the earth but at least the leopard can run in whichever direction is chooses without having to worry about the sun burning it to ashes.
This is my moment to refute.
One. I try to be the leopard but I think I’m the moon
Two. Sanity is a very tough thing to think about because how can you wrap your head around an idea that is as thin as the air that we sometimes forget to breathe? Well, I suppose it makes sense, how can we wrap our heads around anything when these ideas should be wrapping themselves around us?
Three. My dad taught me binary when I was six and I believe that’s the reason that I speak in zeros
Four. I adore your smile but I’d never tell you that because I’d never be able to yell it across six states when I can’t even whisper it to the boy who sits behind me in economy class
Five. I hope someday my words roll off my tongue as alive as the day I killed the grass in front of the white house
Six. Maybe you’ll be an exception. Maybe this is the conclusion.

I’m not a ballerina, it’s all a misdemeanor.
Moderacy is my enemy.
My fingers have replaced my spine so my back cracks a lot more often and now you have the power to bend me over backwards. But please don’t.
When my nails press into my palms they look like little crescent moons surrounded by veins of ropes miles long that let me hold you like a balloon.
When the heat kicks on it gets colder,
The enemy is not just a rock, it’s a boulder.
Man, I wish I was as bold.
Criminals wear gloves to cover their tracks but my fingers have left trains on everything they have touched.
I’m running away from the gunman behind me,
So trust me,
I know what it’s like to sweat bullets.
Don’t be fooled by the snow on my eyelids,
Each time I blink every flake commits suicide.
I was honest until you came along.

I want to create art for the rest of my life but I don’t want to paint flowers I don’t want to draw ocean waves I don’t want to photograph the sunset

I want the art of the oppressed and the needy and the weak and the tiresome, I want their words to break down walls and I want to be an outlet for better days, for the moments that create lifetimes and the stills that hang on walls in your robust mansions that are cleaned by the very people who live in the cities hanging as part of your decor, the cities of workers and lovers and people who depend on one another

I want screaming and crying and the capture of a second of time that will not be erased by your mahogany dinner dates where you talk about the politics of war from the perspective of someone who has never fought a day in their life in the war that a going on right here and right now

I want change and I want to write a piece that years down the road high schoolers annotate like the way I annotated Martin Luther King’s Letter from Birmingham Jail and I want it to ring in those high schooler’s minds until they realize what it is that is bothering them,

what is bothering them is the need for action the need for expression the need for art that is not currently in existence but is instead hanging in an uncomfortable state like an elephant in the room but guess what,

that elephant has a bigger heart than you and guess what,

good things come to those who wait and better days come to those who pray like a little boy who was robbed of his innocence when he saw a shooting in the light of day but was still given a warm meal and a place to stay

bitter cold and bitter winds flow through the blocks of city streets like snakes weaving with a hissing in their teeth but we are the magicians

we are the ones with the power to create something from nothing and you’ll never know what hit you, you’ll spend your whole life trying to figure out our trick because you are not on the inside

you don’t know the method behind the madness, and for the first time

you will be the one in the dark.

Eight
Eight times I look up and down my
closet door before I close it
down one up two down three up four
down five up six down seven up eight
Eight counts in the songs I dance to
because tempos are even and tunes are even
and even is nice and even is good and
even keeps the mind where it should
be
Eight
Eight like the time all the good shows
come on eight
like the number of days when you’re
just one day late eight
like the number of phases of the moon
and maybe life’s odd because you left
too soon
seven days in a week falls just a little
short and
nine months of waiting seems a bit out
of shape and
thirteen times I’ve listened to that song since monday and
It’s one a.m. and you’re on my brain
like a song on odd beats and sick days
Eight.
I thought about you eight times today
and I can’t keep counting this way
so please be here and
please stay

Bugs fly towards lamps not because they love the light

But because the dark seems darker right beyond the bulb
So their whole lives are spent passing it and coming back
Passing it and coming back 


I wouldn’t mind being the light

Because even though you’re looking for the deepest opposite

And I keep burning you
And my insides are coils that can’t come untangled
You still keep coming back
You still keep coming back

I am water.

I can carry you and your burdens the size of ships on my shoulders

And you will never sink.

People always talk about how crazy it is,

That the invincible ship can float on something as feathery as ocean waves.

No one ever mentions the strength of the sea.

Isn’t it odd how I can carry you thousands of miles,

But when you try to return the favor I simply slip through your fingers?

I am the tears on your face that you never let anyone see

I am the rain that sets the mood for another dreary day

I can be solid as a rock when you’re not around

But the second your sunshine hits me I evaporate into nothing.

No one considers how hard it hurts the raindrop to hit the ground

after free falling thousands of feet.

They simply notice the inconvenience of a wet road

On their selfish journey to get where they need to be.

And no one considers the pain of the river

That it runs and runs and runs to escape from nowhere

And to go nowhere.

What you don’t understand

Is that water is the single thing that you need to stay alive.

You need me.

But I don’t need another sinking ship.

don’t bite off more than you can chew,
don’t dance with the devil or tango with time,
love without reason like the pretty girl and her dime
ashes to dust, dust to ashes
when did all this burning happen
when did angels lose wings and spring turn to copper
spring is renewal when your wet hair doesn’t freeze into sharp icicles,
your fingers don’t constantly feel like they have frostbite,
and spring melts hearts with the melting snow that
sometimes is a shame to see go and spring is green with envy of the white snow’s purity yet loves the flowers with such unprecedented maturity
dry wood to flames, flames turn stale
how to keep calm when anger prevails scream how are you doing to branches on trees, its nice to meet you to the sun and the breeze
yell goodbye to the boys of the cold,
buried in snow under rooftops of gold.

The more we view ourselves through lenses the more we see others as skewed and bent

A heart made of stone will crack and crumble when it tries to beat so let the drummer keep drumming and bring the sinners off the streets 

He loves us even when we think one bump will implode us to dust because He sees dust as stars with the potential to be infinite

And He loves us even when our blind eyes judge another for not seeing a problem within a New York minute

We all have winters but warmth makes them a little better so pour thy neighbor a mug of hot chocolate

And call thy a friend

And those stones near our lungs will begin to soften and beat to the sound of a wall falling down 

And the skies will rejoice in one small unity

The bells will ring and the wings will create a wind strong enough to knock down walls even taller 

Even sturdier even thicker

And we will take His love and love others with the fire of the sun

And this winter will burn bright

And the snow will cheer with its soft millions of claps

And the earth will be as one

After the flash a smile cracks.
I have a bet that all astronauts are atheists
But maybe I’ll lose when I walk on the moon.
I cut my mouth wrapping aluminum foil on my tongue
Trying to reflect the light back on you that you send towards me.
It made my teeth look whiter.
After 17 years I’m still not in the swing of things
But that’s okay,
Swings don’t go anywhere anyways without someone pushing them.
Chaos dreaming chaos screaming
Let’s go to the ice cream shop.
I have this awful sense of psychotic importance that is going to ignite the lighthouse
In flames
And maybe it will be more beautiful than all those petty sunsets.
I’ve thought about it every day.
Graffiti on the walls six states away and an onion ring halo wrapped around your head.
Even tigers sleep sometimes.

Oh god oh god

A boy has never called me beautiful

I’m sorry for not making an effort

Oh god oh god        

I hope these other people have fewer regrets than I do

Shouldn’t there be a light by now

Oh god OH GOD

I NEVER TOLD YOU I LOVED YOU

OH GOD OH GOD

I

Don’t be the hero when your eyes are glazed with miscommunication
Days are sad and schools are sadder
And tragedy is division
Division of those who knew her
Those who didn’t
Those who wanted to
Those who never will
But tragedy is communion
Communion of those who knew her
Those who didn’t
Those who wanted to
Those who never will
And love will bring peace
And may that love carry us to understanding
In the hands of brokenness
And those who thought they couldn’t will lead
And love
And conquer
And we will live
And live
And live
And honor those who didn’t
And we will be as one.

Teddy Roosevelt was shot under his heart

Yet he told the crowd mobbing the shooter

To stand back, do not hurt the man

And I like to think that’s what I’m going to do for you

When you shoot an arrow through my chest.

There is ice frozen on my windshield

And every time I play a CD in the cold it skips

Like the tone of your voice

And I wonder what those friends are doing

But then I remember that I don’t really care

Because compassion doesn’t mix well with alcohol

And if I have to sit in another bathroom with pale yellow tiles I think my head will crack

Just like the porcelain seat you slammed your head against

And I’ll fall short of sympathy.

We’ll never find our glory in stained carpets and shaking hands.

I think I’ve started to get wishbones and backbones confused

Because my wishes are buried in the crevices of your spine and now

I hold on to both ends of the wishbone to guarantee success

And maybe that’s why I’m only lucky half the time.

I’ve gotten repetitive repetitive repetitive

And I have gotten faulty with my words

And this is beginning to sound like a tragedy.