sir, i write today to tell you a story that i would define as good enough that i ask you not to interrupt me until i’m finished, not because i think you could, but because, and i’m sure you can believe this, i’m not often allowed to speak my mind long enough for anyone to retain any information. so now that we’re clear on that point, your student has a story to tell.
according to myers-briggs, i’m infp. i’m a feeler, not a thinker, but don’t get me wrong, i think more than anyone else i know, just about my feelings. some of my thoughts are simple, ordinary. some of them are, as expected of me, a teenager’s troubles: school, crushes, fighting with friends. in an environment like this every day, i’m bound to succumb to the will of my own young emotion, and i like it that way. but some of my thoughts are complex, confusing for me. they’re so freaking confusing i would probably have to resurrect shakespeare himself to see me in all of my bardolatry and turn my thoughts into something worthy of being analyzed for centuries after my comparably short life. i tell you this only because i am convinced you probably think the same way—you think extremely normal and expected things because you live a normal and expected life. you also probably think extremely complex things that would require a well thought out night of reading the dictionary to put into words understood by the american mind. i also tell you this because you have made me think both ways as most inspirational teachers have—who else can make your average teen worry both about average teen things like unfair grades and say something inspiring enough that they have thoughts worthy of shakespearean translation? this, sir, would probably be one of the reasons i look up to you. and i don’t say that lightly, just as you tell me you do not tell people they’ll do great things lightly.
i write also because you told me i would do great things. i’m sure once i gather these words in a less poetic manner and say them to your face, you’ll be very annoyed with me bringing this up again. i’m sure you thought little of it. but i need you to know that after what is close to a year and a half of basing my decisions on your words, i’m compelled to write that i’ve decided you’re right. just not in the way you were thinking. i think i’ll march. i don’t think i’ll lead a march worthy of thousands. i think i’ll publish a book. i don’t think i’ll be anything close to famous for it. after much reflection, i’ve come to the conclusion that the word great falls under too many ******* definitions. you meant great. as in significant. but i’ll allow myself a touch of narcissism to tell you that i am too intelligent to let myself believe i am in any way special or significant anymore. i am altogether average - but you have to admit, i’m pretty ******* good at making myself look otherwise. i even conned you into thinking i’m something great, as in significant. but i can admit myself that i am a definition of great. i’m great. as in good, in the sense that means i march to make a difference and i publish a book to help the reader who understands what i mean in the lines. i write this because i spend too much ******* time thinking about what i would say if i had the chance. i am great as in good because i have chosen to write this so someday i can make sure the words i’m writing make sense, to you, the person i am writing them to. sir, i realize now that i am no grand philosopher here to make myself into something significant. and you aren’t either—but if you don’t mind me saying, you are one of the best great as in good philosophers i’ve ever met.
you can keep an eye out for me. you may find my initials on any book and you might see me tutoring at the junior high. but i will never turn into something significant. i don’t see that as an important part of being great. my teacher, i see the utmost importance in making myself into something so good that i radiate the feeling of volunteering at the local shelter. anyone can make a difference. i want to make many. thank you for helping me see that i’m capable of it, whether that was your intent or not. i know you probably thought nothing of what you said to me, but you must have realized by now that i’m told often that i’m a disappointment. i won’t let myself be that to you. or anyone else.
in case you were wondering, when you do receive this in a revised email or letter or even a thought out speech, i’m interested in your philosophy.
signed,
a boy with an ever changing name(though privately, he really likes arlo as his new first middle name. it’s sophisticated but dumb, like he is)

i have always kind of disliked the color yellow
i have astigmatism in one eye
and bright things tend to blur together
and give me a headache
no matter the distance
so i didn’t like the color yellow
until i met someone who likes yellow like flowers in sunshine
and has a smile bright enough to give the sun envy
i always maintain
that it takes eight minutes and twenty seconds for sunlight
to warm me and the rest of the planet
but it just takes a look from my brightest friend
to fill everyone around him with warmth
and after a few years of knowing him
(it might be my imagination)
my astigmatism is getting better

sixteen years old
experiencing things i didn’t know i remembered
like arguing and calls to police
hushed whispers and calling whoever you can
not for them to help
just to get some advice
you don’t want to be a burden
and finding things you didn’t know you wanted until you got them
falling
hard
for a girl you know shouldn’t belong to you
and thinking for the first time
that she is worth a broken heart
that you’ve had this chance before but never have you wanted it
she’s worth more than you think she understands
she makes you slow down in a way most people can’t
and i’ve got trust issues like anyone else
but there’s that captivating feeling in her
that made me trust blindly
from one spur of the moment conversation
you don’t understand
i’ve written poetry about my unrequited lovers before
never have i understood the way the reciprocation would make me feel
i’m stumbling in what this is
inexperienced
she’s pretending to stumble with me because she thinks i’m worth it
i’ve never felt more worth it
but she’s no klutz
she’s a catch
in a simple sense of perfection
i told her once that she was good
in the simplest sense of the word
that she was the idea of it, the concept of all things encompassing positivity
she lets me say things like this to her
and understands the power behind the words “thank you” when you don’t know what else to say
that it speaks volumes when you’re speechless
in a way that i don’t
i have this difficulty keeping my mouth shut
thinking before i speak
she has this way of making me think
usually on my feet
that she’s had from the moment i met her
long before i could predict that i would fall for her
long before i would be oblivious to her doing the same
i realized
this is going to end badly
i realized
one of us is going to come out of this very, very beaten down
and she has her way of making me think
i thought
and i concluded
if we must i hope that it’s me
because from the moment i met her
i knew we could bounce off of each other
in unspoken words and hand squeezes
from the first conversation we had i knew
this is someone you trust with your favorite book as soon as you meet them
this is someone who writes in it like you have
in a black pen
and as you’re reading it back
you realize you are falling for her in this unfamiliar way
that you want to hang on to every word she says
that you want her to know how much you don’t know how to put into words
you want her to know that you still remember what she was wearing the day you first met
and you thought “oh. she’s cute.”
and when you tell her this
you’ll laugh when she tells you she thought the same thing as you
that she knew this was inevitable
i know there’s a lot inevitable about it
but i hope i’m the one who ends up hurt
because this is selfish
and this is not fair to her
and despite that
i never want to see her broken
especially not in pieces that i don’t know how to fix
for now
i can try to put aside this idea of oblivion
and live in
live on
experiencing things with her i never knew i wanted to
and always, always wanting to make her laugh
showing her songs that look like her voice
the synesthesia makes it hard to convey
but it’s like paints on a black canvas
mostly this beautiful blue
with purple undertones
like their own variety of northern lights
when she laughs
this shot of neon green shoots through it
i don’t write poetry often anymore
but she’s worth another attempt at it
she’s worth everything i never knew i had
and i’m not in love with her yet
but i’m getting there
she sleeps in later than i do in the mornings
i’ll never show her this
but i’ll try to have something for her to wake up to
whether it’s a meme or a song or anything else
i must emphasize
she’s worth the time put into selecting it

she wrote in my favorite book
with witty comments and neater handwriting
straight lines with her black pen
careful not to write over lines in ways i hadn’t been
careful not to hurt the words i’ve told her i loved
and i suppose that must say something
about how maybe she is a gemini
she certainly has a twofold relationship
with permanence
i noticed that
she underlines every capital letter indicating importance
when they aren’t at the beginning of the sentence
like Before and Investigation
she underlines what she thinks is important
and circles what she understands
she does both to me
and though i may not understand why she chose me to write on
i cannot help but smile at her annotations

perhaps there’s a part of me
that’s just scared of becoming my father’s son
when i have worried all my life i would turn into my mother
in the deep hours of the night they ask me
“can i tell you something”
it’s not a lie when i reply
“you can tell me anything”
as they spend the next minutes trying to figure out how to tell me
that i have always appeared as someone who is
afraid to be wrong
but when you’ve grown up
with wrong as the kind of person you’re supposed to live up to
and the kind of thing you are screamed at for being on
a daily basis
and love the kind of thing you only find in fairy tales
you grow horrified of being wrong
terrified of dreaming
and screaming in your sleep
that i will not be
my father’s son

I’ve got to wake up early tomorrow
There’s a stillness in it
That you don’t find in my stomach
It does flips and flips and flips
Brush the hair out of my face again, will you
I know I need it cut