Love your family.
Don't scream when you get home from school. Don't swear when you're leaving for school. Never let the neighbors know you're unhappy.  Don't make your mom unhappy. Look her in the eyes, she's a person too.  She doesn't remember what it's like to be a teenager because she's too focused on making you snacks, calling the doctor, and buying you face wash.

Love people.
Trust them. Show them how lovely they are. Smile at them even though you have a pimple on your nose, they likely have one on their chin.  The handsome stoner with green skinny jeans and an extended knowledge of punk rock seems infinitely kind because he is infinitely kind. He's not looking to ***** you over and he doesn't think you're lame.  He actually thinks he's lame and he wants to get to know you. Ask how his day was, although it's old-fashioned, so are you, who cares, it will make him happy.  Ask how everyone's day was, even though you'd rather shove your unpleasant face and your trembling voice and all of your clumsy words into an old box and hand it back to God, then thank him for at least trying.

Love the world.**
Never stop looking up at trees.  Don't do it so boys nearby will think you're an enigma.  Do it because every leaf and every branch wants you to notice them. Do it to fill your head with words that make you buy more pretty notebooks.

In the beginning, her sadness was plunging into a December lake, and the forest was the one she spent her childhood in--jumping off the tall rock so much there's a hole in the ground, and trailing behind the baby deer and her mother. She never forgot her green mittens but her mom would call out and tell her,“Mina, don’t forget your hat!”
And she would flutter back down the hill, grab the jingly hat and hug her mom just because, and her mom would kiss her forehead, then go back inside to set the chicken in the oven, thinking about her little bird.

Today is no different than the rest, she just wanted to ice skate today. This forest is her home. This lake is her fireplace. Her hearth. She just wanted to ice skate today. But, here she is, staring up at the tendrils of steam rising above chunks of broken ice, and she kicks her legs and she thinks, "you too? All along?"

She thrashes. She’s an animal. She is getting weaker and she calls for help (any animal's instinct.) But the chicken is burned and the house is burned down and the oven is still on and she can hear it ticking and the knobs turning as flames shoot out the burners, but her mother is gone.

Eventually, she becomes numb to it all--this hot black smoke that wears her like a plague, this biting white thrum. She sinks under the water, a separate peace from the world. She’s safe and she's warm and she’s numb.

[Strong arms]
[Everyone stay back]
[Keep her warm]

Sadness is a blanket,
happiness is a warm gun.

I miss raw cookie dough and soft pajamas
and take-out boxes overturned on the couch
Lord of the Rings playing in the background
inaudible over our chatter

I miss sweaters and boots in Fall
crispness resonating in our senses
brown, sienna, and crimson Fall
the promise of the season
is rosy in our cheeks
just a camera and a forest,
with my beautiful best friend.

"Do you want to go shopping?" I say,
"we'll buy something nice,
get dolled up and do something spontaneous."
"i want to go on an adventure.
like bilbo and the dwarves
and we won't brush our hair for days."

"All of them, and more," she'd say.
"I'll go wherever you go."

My best friend is not an indie record or a mall trip
she is as vast and unwavering as the sea
and I'll go wherever she goes

Behind the windowsill I can't tell
if her lovely hair is white silk
or lands on her shoulders in black tendrils
does she like her body shape?
is she happy with her mother?
whatever she is,
whatever she's meant to be,
i miss her.

Crazy, selfish girl,
8 billion people on this earth
and none of them
are good enough for you, girl?
how can you claim to miss
what you never had?

My best friend is a feeling
I had one windy afternoon
I catch her in my fingers
and let her blow away

I miss when Jane didn’t smoke.

She sneaks under morning’s cloak

Goes to class and laughs

With an empty head

At my empty joke.

Empty is the ***** flask

I pretend not to notice

Tucked into her lunchbox

So I stare at her sandwich instead

No crusts

A housewife’s handiwork

There's no use pretending anymore.

We are empty

We are fading

And she is faded

And I am waiting

In the food court of a failing mall

While she is debating

Whether or not to give it all

To another blue-eyed boy

Because he made her feeling something

Her father didn’t

After his deployment.