Becoming an adult was more like
reading an extremely long book
that takes a few pages
to get interesting enough
for you to read more
than ten pages at a time.

Each flip of a page
was each step
into becoming a woman.

At first, it was slow,
like when a book caught your eye
but you haven’t memorized
what each character would look like
first thing in the morning
or what their sense of humor is like.

Then, all at once,
your eyes are glued to the page
and even though they droop with exhaustion,
the pages flip fast
with an eagerness to know more.

As for the trek into independence,
each change to décor and organization
happened all at once.

Childish trophies were chucked,
zebra print comforters were replaced
with tasteful black and white
and blood red accents,
the clutter of collages and magazine pages
was torn down leaving my walls
more mature and bare,
espresso soaked furniture was ordered
on express to compliment
both the dresser and the desk.

And as I introduced
my newest person of interest to my house
and I surveyed my room from his eyes,
it was the ending I had imagined.

*July 10, 2014 5:03:37 PM

I’m a few hours
and minutes
and seconds
away from adding a year
to my relatively irrelevant age
and I contemplate the complexities
of such a small number.

Nineteen.

Legally an adult,
but not nearly ready
to enter the world
on my own.

I cannot even fathom  
               braving the hallways of
               horrendous high school
or
               supporting myself and
               being on time for my insurance
               all while balancing a career

I’m stuck in the middle
of this whirlwind
of emotions and numbers
and candles and time
and homework and paychecks
and everything else
that comes with the titles of
student and teenager
and adult and employee.

It’s minutes before
I can blow out the candles
on eighteen
but I also extinguish another bit
of dependence.


*August 10, 2014
9:13:43 PM

You are Sherlock Holmes
But so am I.
You are Watson, I am too.
Neither is greater than the other,
Yet were both superior in different ways,
You with your mind,
Me with my words,
You with your understanding,
Me with my cries.
You never once complained,
But said you were there for me.
You understood right off the bat,
Why I was apologizing so much.
You knew my past,
I told you. Willingly, because I trust you.
Do you remember that last day, of camp, we hugged, and I remember having to stand on tip toe to reach your shoulders,
You're the youngest but the tallest.
From then on you had my back,
And I thought maybe I was
Saddling you with too much.
But the yoke seemed light to you.
So my best friend, I love you.
Never forget me, and I will never forget you.
I trust you,
Thank you for listening,
And believing in me.

You could relate.
You listened to my fate.
You understood.
I loved you. I love you still.
I hugged you goodbye on
The last day of camp.
You were crying.
I missed you. I miss you still.
Those fun summer days.
Bus rides, museums, shopping.
Dreams now they seem.
You were the middle
Yet the smallest.
I wish I could see you.
Thank you best friend, for understanding,
And relating,
I love you.

Does every poem on this site
Seem to be about love?
Two bodies,
Two lips,
Two eyes looking into another two eyes,
Like they were reflections
Through the looking glass.
Why do we read of longing,
That I need you in my life,
Why do we read about boys and girls
As if they were commodities
Their stories never getting old?
Why the love?
Why amor?
Why romance?
Do tell if you have an answer

There's never any warning when
An idea hits you.
Bam!
Pop!
Zap!
Wow, it's like love at first sight.
Both are so rare,
Epiphanies are like lightning.
One minute they're there,
And you see their shape,
A tangle of nerves,
Cracks in the sky,
And the next you look at nothing.
Where did it come from?
That I don't know.
They won't come with a warning.
You just better be ready with an open jar waiting for the lightning to
Strike so you can catch
Your sparkle.
Forever.
Hold it tight,
Don't let it go,
For when the lightning strikes,
You'll know

Considered the staple of life
Is nothing more than ground up
Grain from
The ground.
Bread,
What so many peasants fought for in
France and Russia
Is nothing more than
Carbohydrates smushed together
Bread,
What everyone eats today,
Is nothing more than gluten free,
Wheat or multigrain.

But could some thing so simple
Be so important?