Some days, I just want to be blind. Blind to the world. To the crimes, to the kinds of people that exist.


If I was blind, I wouldn't have to spend all the time trying to decipher how someone could be so cruel. How they could think it would be so cool to shoot up a school.


February 14th is a holiday, is Valentine's Day. A day of love, not hate, and should not act as the day of a shooting. Is a day where seventeen lives were lost as a result of a guy who felt a little lost. A man who needed to move on.


Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School. A safe place where people go to learn without concern of dying. On Valentine's day, seventeen lives are gone as everything that should have gone right had gone wrong. I mean, come on, why is it seen as an event that everyone saw, but cannot correct? Is there a vet for people who act like dogs?


Some days, I just want to be blind. Some days, I look out of my window and see trees blowing in the breeze, and it used to put me at ease,  but those old opportunities have been seized.


Fire. Burning. Horror. Forest fires in national parks. Places were bark used to decorate trees, little did everyone one know, this was a slowly killing disease.


We didn't have time to grovel, never mind write a novel. It's too bad you have to pick up the remains out of the rubble. In the background, I mumble, “wasn’t there supposed to be no casualties?” I mean can anyone sneeze without having to bend at the knees to the ultimate destroyer. Surprise. Surprise. Don't catch flies because you didn't open your eyes and realize that there is no easy end to all of these crimes.


Some days, I just want to be blind. Blind to everything. Blind to kids my own age. From the gentle voices to the ones filled with rage.


Walking toward a Target exit and seeing a wall of missing children, half of them probably screamin’ looking for their parents, scared and searching for some flair, of hope.


Most of them most likely thought that it could never happen to them, but here they are sitting in the middle of a stranger’s den. Scared and alone. Wondering when, or if there’s is a time that they will get to go home.


You know, the funny thing is that though it might be a stranger. You might not even think that they can pose a threat, let alone danger. Think about it, your kidnapper could be a lady, old and sweet, or so you think before she starts look a little less fragile and meek. And this makes you feel weak, well this will teach you not to go to the store to buy something as simple as meat.

you are a stoneman, and the new year
wrapped in a confetti shawl

january will dye your eyes white
and december as patient as fertility

as always, the april bomb –
flowers detonate into the may-days

but you are too frozen to touch them,
will crack the stems for milk

mouth our womanly eggnog
bleeding butter into the next thirteen.