Baby Boar lies in his bed
thoughts of hate in his head
hate of the harsh world breaks the seals
though he is scared to show what he feels
Mama boar hears his cries with a fright
breaks through the door into sight
holding him tight she sits on the floor
Baby boar won't need to cry forever more

she catches constellations in
her dreamy eyes.
in daylight, she runs through
tall grass, clovers, cattails
she searches for sunbeams, for
a speck of hope to satiate
her appetite. she
dresses her spiral curls
in dandelions, lilacs,
whatever lives in bloom.
she carries daydreams,
among wounds,
bathes in the creek,
alone, washes them clean.
every muscle untensed,
every fear released
when she walks in a room.

When I was younger, I thought I was as mature as a teenager
Now in my adolescence, I realize i'm still not as mature as teenager
Mature is a state of mind
And if the state of my mind is consistently and always scrambled, how can I be as mature as a teenager.
When I was younger I wanted to be a teenager
The freedom in driving and plethora of friends that I knew I would have.
My naivety
No one tells you that when you're a teenager, you can be surrounded by people, but still feel like no one gets you.
You also don't want to be the angsty teenager
So **** it up and
b friendly
Be popular
be cool
I don't think my mind or my mouth got the memo
Friendly I am
But I don't think i've ever hit that cool mark
But really, who needs cool when you can overthink your entire existence
Ah, being a teenager the best years of your life
Really just really soak that in

Mama's big rainbow

umbrella keeps me nice and --


dry in the shower.

If only we could learn to be like a little child again,
Not plagued by this world
  Innocence on another level
  Only we could learn to be like a little child again,
   Willing to learn, not wallow-
    -in shame and blame
         We could learn to be like a little child again,
          Love so strong
          We used to get along
                Could learn to be like a little child again,
                     Honesty dripping from our lips
                         But we’re still nice when one slips
                              Learn to be like a little child again,
                                 Obedient in time
                                   Not trying to find an alibi
                                       To be a little child again,
                                        One that was raised
                                          Who forgets their pain
                                            There’s no hatred in our name

I wish to be a little child again

I am sitting on a bench full of kids my age. My gaze dances over unfamiliar faces. Everything around me is moving so fast. But I am sitting calmly. I am looking around at everything. My gaze passes over the face of a girl with long black hair braided into a braid. I don’t know her name. I don’t care.

I am sitting in school. The teachers are playing a game with us. We are sitting at a table. We are playing with kids from another class. And she is there. The girl with black hair in a braid. Now I know her name. Rebeca. She is loud and having fun. I don’t like her.

This is my third year in school. Kids from other classes have joined ours. And she joined too. I am angry. I can’t stand her.

A few months have passed. Rebeca is pretty cool. She is nice and fun. I think I want to be her friend. I’m glad we’re in the same class.

I am friends with Rebeca. I love how she always makes me laugh. I love the teeth she’s always showing when she laughs. We spend our breaks together. We go out to the playground together. I like her.

Rebeca slept over at my house. It was one of the best nights of my life. We laughed together until we couldn’t breathe. Rebeca is my best friend.

I had a party for my 10th birthday. I invited my friends. I invited Rebeca too. It was fun. I am very happy to have a friend like her. I hope we will always stay friends.

I invited Rebeca to my house after school, like always. She said she might come. So I waited for her. She didn’t come.

Rebeca doesn’t really want to play with me anymore. Sometimes I go up to her at school, but she’s not interested in talking to me. I miss her.

I watched Rebeca in our classroom as she talked with other girls. They are more mature than I am. But Rebeca has changed. She wears makeup. She cut off her beautiful long black hair that she always used to wear in a braid. I wish she were like she was before.

I had a party for my 11th birthday. I invited my friends. It was fun. I really enjoyed it. I didn’t invite Rebeca.

I watch Rebeca in class during break. She’s having fun. She shows her white teeth when she laughs. I want to laugh too. But I haven’t talked to Rebeca in a few months. I watch her play and mess around with the boys in our class. She puts on makeup with other girls in our class. She swears and smiles weirdly at the boys. I don’t wear makeup. I don’t swear. I don’t hang out with boys. Rebeca gets on my nerves. I don’t like her.

Everything shut down because of the pandemic. Rebeca isn’t joining the online classes. Rebeca always used to try hard in class. I have no idea what happened to her. I don’t care what she’s doing.

I finally went back to school after the pandemic. I saw Rebeca. She had a lot of makeup on. She had a piercing on her nose. She wasn’t showing her beautiful white teeth when she smiled anymore. She wasn’t smiling. Her hair had changed. Her beautiful black hair that used to go down to her **** barely reached her ears now. I almost didn’t recognize her.

During class, I was talking with a friend. We were laughing. Rebeca told me, “shut up!” She was frowning. I am afraid of Rebeca.

I left our school a year earlier because I went to a different school. I like my new school. I have friends here. I haven’t even thought about Rebeca.

I heard that Rebeca didn’t get into any high school. I know she’s smart because she used to do really well in school. I feel sorry for her.

I came to my old class’s school farewell. Rebeca was there. I saw her smile. I saw her beautiful white teeth. And suddenly, she looked just like the Rebeca I talked to five years ago. I wanted to go up to her, but I was scared. I decided to go home. I looked at Rebeca one last time, who was talking to other girls who were prettier than me. “Goodbye, Rebeca,” I said to myself and left.

I hope she remembers me sometime.

Her shoes in her hands,

she follows me. Mama, wait --


I'm coming with you!