on the wires

they sit;
high above the rooftops

just barely above

the clouds - I squint my eyes - they are
but
dots on a line;

I can barely see them and yet,

I know what they are, and I know
what they can do - the window
frames them as so -

It is getting colder - I feel it
in the air; it will be time to return home

soon

and
I will do so grudgingly -

but for now,
I watch those specks
and as I do,

I wonder

what it would be like to sit there among them

I'm waiting for the world to turn,
For me to grow in another year,
My hair will get longer,
And my emotions will change,
Doing nothing while healing from surgery was so sublime,
But now I have to face the oncoming storm,
Of work and responsibilities that I hid from for so long,
Last year,
At this exact moment,
I was waiting for the same thing.

It makes me wonder,
Is this all that I will do?,
Wait and wait until I feel like I'm grown?,
I'm already 19,
Considered an adult by society,
Yet when I look at myself in the mirror,
I still feel like a child.

I guess I'm waiting for a moment that will never happen,
When the world sends me a sign,
A sign that will change my own self perspective,
So when I look in the mirror,
I can see an adult.

There once was man and a scholar
Seeing a woman though he'd rarely call her
She'd text and want more
But he thought it a chore
What a ******-up commitment teetotaller

the turning of a key in the lock.
twinkle and movement of metal on metal.
it's been four days now
and i feel like the ugly butterfly
in the garden that no one wants to hold
or chase after.
i'm wrapped in a chrysalis,
transformation taking place everywhere i look.
so let's hope i come out brighter and more beautiful
than ever.

I finished moving into my residential college as a storm began
- fat raindrops, as big as coconuts, falling from a black and fouling sky.

These northerners were acting like a "tropical storm" (Henri) was a big deal.

“Surely New England gets storms?” I ask, from behind my mask.
“What about NOR_Easters?” I say, like a meteorologist.
“Those are different.” I’m told, with no other explanation.

“Did you bring this storm from the “SOUTH?” I’m asked, accusingly.
(This was after I told them about coming from one ”bulldog-college-town” to another.)
“Yes.” I reply, “It was in my luggage.”

A silly question but they have a point - the storm feels like it’s involved and fulfilling some obligation to dramatize my college move-in story.

“Time to quarantine!” I’m informed - “Yep, can’t WAIT!” I lie.

One disaster at a time.

trade a pretty penny for some change.
she'd give it all in a heartbeat
for some new lungs and new eyes.
she said the air felt cleaner there,
putting on this phase like a second coat.
but i wouldn't give a quarter, nickel, or dime
for any time
spent away from here.

To say I'm excited about going to college is like saying Godzilla is big - you don't get the complete picture - you don't see the buildings crumbling and civilians running for their lives. Leaving for college is one of those foundational moments in life...

My mind’s been racing, I’ve felt a disquieting anxiety and I realized what I’m experiencing is a new kind of sadness - a “delta” strain new in my experience.

In less than a week I‘m off to college and I can’t help knowing that things will never be the same. I’ll step out of this house or we’ll hug at the airport and somewhere in there - I’ll cross a line.

Will my childhood be over or is it my adolescence? I’m not sure.
Oh, God, should I hand in my key??

I can hardly let my mind linger on the subject of leaving - it’s as sensitive as a tooth - it’s radioactive.

The most fleeting or off-handed reference to leaving and my heart hammers, my throat clumps and the room transforms into a thrill ride that starts to slowly spin until the floor drops a bit like an elevator. 30 seconds of focusing on leaving and I’m a muckle of tears.

I’m mindlessly, Flamin' Doritos excited about college (the going to) but like a sacrifice, or a coin - there’s a cold, flip-side, almost death-like sadness (about leaving) happening too.

So far, I think I’ve masked the sadness, with the cat’s lazy poise and razzle-dazzle and I’m sure this feeling of loss is some sort of pre-home-sickness that will pass. Until then, I'm stoically trying to wear a big-girl skirt here.

Started from ‘call your seniors sir’
these four years have been on roller coaster.
From never missing any lab or lecture,
to going online of entire semester.
From finding every face new in the corridor,
to opening of bottles behind every door.

Long lines running out of the cafeteria,
and now running wild on unemployment hysteria.
Myriad hours spent staring at laptops
and did I mention long boring workshops?
Bonds with eternal laughs and tears
some worth, some broken love affairs.

Timidly walking through the hallway of classrooms,
to bursting crackers inside bathrooms.
Don’t know about the insights on this way;
but guaranteed were new experiences every day.
All these years we had an August run,
or should I say four years of endless fun?

Curiously wandering in pursuit of new teams,
now running against time, chasing dreams.
These bolted doors are testimony to all the screams,
morphing to adulthood from our silly teens.
Unfearful moments strolling in the common hall,
and endless hours practicing basketball.

Cheers to everyone who was part of this journey,
opening up paths of limitless learning.
And some answers I’m still searching,
like who left that chair outside my room; burning!

I always hate it when someone I count on gets promoted out of my everyday life. Nothing bathes one in neoteny like being left behind by someone off to college.

One morning they’re with you, the next, they’ve departed - dropping away, like Icarus, into those freer, more exciting, college seas. Callie did that - it wasn’t her fault, exactly, that she was two years older.

I’m a vampire for her tales of sordid doings and it was fun telling her my everything so she could laugh at my mistakes. I’ve really missed her coaching - between my every romantic play.

Sometimes I’d pause in my studies or practice - those seemingly slow motion choreographies that'll lead to MY future - to glance across our joined yards where I can see her window.

I’d hope to see a light - like she broke camp, escaped her quarantine and somehow made it home - like the moon stepping out from behind the clouds.