How do you think
Those mismatched socks feel
When you pull them
From the dryer.
Do they know that they will
Never see their match again
That they will always be
Half of an equation.
Do they know that
They have lost their purpose
Never to be regained.
When you pull that single sock
From the dryer
Does it understand
That it will never be complete again.
Sometimes
I feel
Like the mismatched socks.
But then I remember
That I am melodramatic
They are just socks
And someday
I will find my other sock
I will find you.

In the 8th grade
They told us to write about
What we believed
Others wrote about
Hope
Honor
Happiness
Hard work
I wrote about
Death
We had to read them
To the class
Everyone else
Was told
Good job
Well done
Nice work
I was told
That I was
Wrong.

In the 8th grade
They told us
To write an essay
About
Anything
Others wrote about
Cats
Music
Sports
Literature
I wrote about creationism
And why I thought
That it was stupid
We had to read them
To the class
Everyone else was told
Good job
Well done
Nice work
I was told
That I was
Wrong.

If I asked you for
Respect
You would tell me
That I needed
To earn it
When you ask for
Respect
You tell me
That it is your
Privilege.

I pray for silence
When I hear
Your angry voice
Yelling.
I pray for noise
When I do not
Hear your voice
At all.

Parents complain
About ungrateful children
Children complain
About ungrateful parents
People pity themselves
And expect so much of others
If only we had no expectations
And pitied others
More than ourselves
If only we did not yell
At our children
If only we did not ignore
Our parents
Then maybe we would
Have more room
For love.
But no argument is
One sided.

Found in the turrets
Of junk at a yard sale
When I was too young to
Remember
White cowboy boots
Just my size
I wore them every day
Every girlish dress was paired
With my tiny white
Cowboy boots
I ran
Jumped
Danced
In my white cowboy boots
Until one day
My feet were no longer
So small.
So I hid them away
In my wardrobe
And took to wearing jeans
Knowing in
The back of my mind
That one day
My child will
Run
Jump
Dance
In those
Tiny white Cowboy boots

Oh how I yearn
For evening gowns and gloves
For hats and corsets
Oh how I yearn
For typewriters and telegraphs
For carriages and train compartments
Oh how I yearn
For a time of enigmas
For a time of class.