But I would rather be horizontal.
I am not a tree with my root in the soil
******* up minerals and motherly love
So that each March I may gleam into leaf,
Nor am I the beauty of a garden bed
Attracting my share of Ahs and spectacularly painted,
Unknowing I must soon unpetal.
Compared with me, a tree is immortal
And a flower-head not tall, but more startling,
And I want the one's longevity and the other's daring.

Tonight, in the infinitesimal light of the stars,
The trees and flowers have been strewing their cool odors.
I walk among them, but none of them are noticing.
Sometimes I think that when I am sleeping
I must most perfectly resemble them--
Thoughts gone dim.
It is more natural to me, lying down.
Then the sky and I are in open conversation,
And I shall be useful when I lie down finally:
The the trees may touch me for once, and the flowers have time for me.

i cut my hair to my shoulders
and things began to change
i thought that i looked much better
but everything turned strange

if i had kept my hair so long
would things all be the same?
would my long locks have saved it all
or am i the one to blame?

as a children we were taught
that boys were not supposed to "pretty"
they were supposed to be handsome,
manly as well as tough,
and a bit rough around the edges

as a children we were taught
that boys were not supposed to be "pretty"
but as you looked at me
glossy lips stained the color of cherries
and laughed as a child would

the sparkle in your eyes had never faded
a smile playing at your lips, you asked
"but i am pretty, aren't i?"

If I die in a school shooting
I'll never go home again.
My room will sit unused,
A capsule frozen in time,
A snapshot of how I was.

If I die in a school shooting
I'll never see my dog again.
She will sit at the front door
Waiting for me and wondering,
Why I never came home.

If I die in a school shooting
I'll never graduate from high school.
My yearbooks will sit stacked
Stopped short of their goal,
Missing years that should have been.

If I die in a school shooting
I'll never see my mom again.
She will sit distraught,
Planning a funeral
For a child taken from her.

If I die in a school shooting
I'll never see my friends again.
They'll sit together, missing me.
One empty seat among them,
A constant reminder of their loss.

If I die in a school shooting
I'll never see my little sister again.
She will sit through high school
Knowing I can't guide her through,
That she has to figure it out alone.

If I die in a school shooting
My school will be stained.
Pools of students lives will sit,
Blood tattoos on the brick structures,
Marks of death ground into it.

If I die in a school shooting
Everyone will wear black.
They'll send their thoughts and prayers
To a town marred by death,
Forever to be the home of a shooting.

If I die in a school shooting
Will the world change?
Or will I become one of hundreds  
Of kids who have to die?
What will it take?

If things continue this way
Children will have to live in fear.
They'll look over their shoulders
Always worried and wondering,
If they'll die in a school shooting.

My father walked me down the aisle,
But my mother held my arm.
He went with me,
But we went not towards the altar,
But towards the door.

My father walked me down the aisle,
And the ***** rang through the church,
Humming through the elaborate crown molding,
Carved by my ancestors.

He went,
Not beside me,
But before me,
And I watched,
As he was illuminated by the bright,
Overbearing,
Texas sun.

My father walked me down the aisle,
But I did not wear white.
My father walked me in silence,
And I shed tears not for a man standing at the altar,
But for the one I would never see again.

My father walked me down the aisle,
And no veil obscured my face.
All eyes were upon me, but not for my pristine beauty,
Instead for my clenched jaw and furrowed brow,
Severe and fierce to distract from my glassy eyes.

My father did not leave me at the end of our walk to sit beside my mother.
She clung to me for support and sobbed breathlessly,
Loudly,
Unavoidably,
And I carried her with one hand,
My sister the other,
And walked towards my future.
A future family,
Not one person more,
But one person less.
I walked,
One final time,
With him.

My father walked me down the aisle,
And I will never forget it.
Hundreds of eyes isolating my family from the crowd,
Slow and muffled sounds drowning in the deafening beat of my heart,
Blurred faces staring,
Black heels clacking against the cobbled path from the church,
The anguished wails of my mother,
The whimpering of my sister,
And the wooden box that glided before us,
Pulling,
A string tied to our patriarch,
The pin key of our family,
Pulled taut and then snipped with the slam of the hearse doors.

My father walked me down the aisle,
Before I had a chance to grow up.
He walked me,
Out of the church,
Away from the altar,
Never to be walked again.

sometimes i wish i could find you
like this—
seated alone in a place where you find
some sort of solitude from
the flashing lights
the loud sounds and
the brushing of shoulders with people
who you may never see again;
it’s always like this.
it seems to be fast paced and wild,
wonderful and lonely in the way you live.
so perhaps if i came across you seated this way,
in a table by the window with a cup of hot chocolate,
you would offer me a seat
and i would watch the sunlight kiss your face
and i would offer you a room in my heart,
tell you “come here, be with me,
tell me how your day went
and how you are feeling.”
and perhaps we’d share our favorite songs
and this moment of ours would feel like one
meant for the silver screen,
but it would be ours,
tucked away from the noise and the ordinary.
and perhaps i’ll be able to know you the way i wish i could:
talking over cups of hot chocolate like good old friends.
i’ll show you my world
and you’ll show me mine,
no matter how different they seem to be.

here we are,
i've found the center of the universe—
it is when you are beside me and suddenly
all the planets in their orbits are disrupted,
they run in circles the way my mind does
whenever you come around.
the trees dance and sway
to the rhythm of your hands,
for you are their favorite musician.
suddenly all the world's gardens bloom
in my heart, there is a flowerbed on which
you are invited to rest—
come here, be with me.
the sun's warmth transfers itself
into the adjacent stars below
your forehead
upon which the moon plants a kiss every night,
because it loves you so.
and the wild seas would never dare
to bring tears of salt into your eyes,
the darkest storms would never dare to steal your light,
and here i am,
looking at you,
peering at you curiously,
feeling as if
i could travel every corner of the world.
now, will you please continue to map
the way to you for me?
let me know, and i will follow.

sometimes your eyes are like planets,
wide and round with wonder.
a look into them shows the worlds that orbit in your mind
and the stars that swirl in your chest.
you're forever as young
as seventeen revolutions around the sun,
but your wonder has already been enough
to send you to the stars.
you've flown lightyears
enough to listen to the echoes
of time and memory contained in space dust,
you've made these sounds your songs.
you've commanded shooting stars
and hung from them,
swinging from tail to tail to get to the moon
and believe me, from my windowsill,
i can see you've made it when your moonlight shines on me.
now that you are up there,
i hope you like the view,
at night, i'll always look outside
just to admire you.

"do you know how it's been raining a lot lately?
it's because the sky is envious of you and me,"

those were the words you told me
for whenever we met, the sky cried
like a baby whose candy was taken away
the thunder would roll, and the clouds would grey
but you and i, we stayed the same

"the sky is jealous of us meeting"

but for why?
and you told me,
because it's lonely
it has no one to hold

i used to complain
that it would always rain
and so you told me,

"next time we meet, and the rain falls
you should ask the sky, why, are you jealous?

you should be.
because i have her.
and she has me."

don't gain weight, they say
do you want to look like a pig?
but it's ugly if you're too skinny,
no ***** and no ***, what are you so proud of?

society's standards, everchanging and everflowing
from the desireableness of being just bone and skin to having ******* and an ***
our society that can't decide what it wants
our society that thinks it can control what is perfect

perhaps i shouldn't conform to society's standards after all