When I was zero
I hope Dad felt like a hero
Holding me between his fingertips and elbow  
I scream from the shallow depths of my premature lungs
Nothing could calm me except for my thumbs
He carried me to the crib Mom built in a freshly painted room
It was probably white, but I can only assume
He could feel my pulse through his skin as my chest billowed
Dad laid me down gently so my head rested delicately atop a light pink pillow

When I was three
I was sad to leave the table under the lemon tree
And say goodbye to my artwork
To be enrolled in preschool at Mom’s work
Where employees build satellites and rovers
In the kid’s room, refusing to be a pushover
I got in trouble on the train track carpet
My cheeks burned scarlet
And scraped my chin falling off the money bars
For a moment I saw beautiful stars
I sat at lunch with apple slices
A few miles away Steve Jobs builds electronic devices

When I was four
God added to us one more
She’ll grow up to be taller than me
Only by an inch
When she scared me I wouldn’t flinch
Some days it felt like were Cain and Abel
As we sat fuming at the coffee table
But since your first breath of air in the hospital
Our bond has been unbreakable

When I was five
I pulled on a crisp white polo
Never without the school logo
Over my tangled blond hair
Zipped up a blue plaid jumper
With a matching sweater
The first day of school
What a day to remember

When I was six
I could not do soccer tricks
Dad bought me my first ball
Us girls got to decide what team name we would be called
Running around on the field
Rambunctious energy revealed
Oranges at half-time and Gatorade for the thirsty
Every year, I got a new colored jersey
Dad always refereed, Mom always cheered
It wasn’t long until I changed sports career
Gymnastics, volleyball, swimming, cross country
I tried each one in turn
Non-stop mediocre

When I was seven
Singing was my primary personality expression
I joined my churches children’s choir
Belting with boys and girls as if my tongue were on fire
We stood center stage
A pastor prayed
“Dear Jesus,
We thank you for the way you have blessed us through our kids
Give us the strength to do whatever your hearts bids
Amen”

When I was nine
I became aware of my spine
Mom signed me up for piano lessons
Learning music was a task for virtuous adolescents
On Tuesday’s I practiced with a smile
On Wednesday’s I thought it all vile
The teacher from Russia was intimidating, I admit
One day I stood on the stool and said “I quit”

When I was twelve
I didn’t know myself
Every day my body was changing
Every atom under my skin rearranging
Boys pointed and called me names
Girls laughed behind my back and played nasty games
I never understood why they call this school private
Everything I do is public knowledge in this climate
They call themselves Christians
But without CHRIST all I see are IANS
Immature Anxious Nefarious School-Kids

When I was seventeen
Wedged between two couples I sat between
I rode in a limo with friends to junior prom
Like a classic 80s rom-com
Dressed up to the nines
We took pictures in the sunshine
Never been asked on a real date
Probably why I’m independent and stay up too late

When I was eighteen
In my skin tight denim jeans
I started college in Montecito
Everyone had patagonia and that post-surf glow
A few years later the Royals moved in
Somewhere nextdoor lives Degeneres comma Ellen
But it’s okay because so does my best friend

When I was twenty
Almost no one at school was throwing confetti
I witnessed my first racially motivated student demonstration
After praising Jesus for our spiritual liberation
At school, on the news, in my town
Media making noise for brothers and sister Black and Brown
My sister and I made signs
Walked to the square ears open, eyes wide
Stood still
Listened
Pain, tears, anger that run in their veins
But hasn’t touched the surface of my pale frame
My blue eyes get red and swollen from time to time
But have not felt the weight of false accusation of crime
Of the multi-generational pain and censure
Their beautiful caramel brown irises have had to endure
I cannot begin to imagine
So I pray “Jesus, grant me compassion
Understanding and wisdom
Give me extra kindness, Holy Spirit help me spread the Kingdom”

Now I am almost twenty-two
These days the sky doesn’t seem quite as blue
Eyes numb to the dim overhead haze
Of the flickering light shadowing my days
It’s been long windy road to get here
Live loves to kick me in the rear
But I hold onto hope and don’t give up cheer
I shouldn’t cast my light from the mold of a pandemic year

elixir of life
drink slow let knowledge arise
compassion and love

What a great heaviness it is

to be an empath

surviving in a world

that is often discovered to be

egocentrically brutal

as well as incessant.

To be a collection of reticent voices

in this world full of such

powerful shrilling white noise.

To be determined as weak

by those who know not of

the very resilience required

that can only be formed

out of true humility.

The day I understand what it feels like
to love,
embracing “empty”
as I do “empathy,”

when "compassion" breathes among
those who embody that space with "passion,"

that a dream realized can also mean
something else doesn't have to die,

will I welcome such miracle?

This is to say that Storm Clouds
Are the accumulation of water in the air,
That Hate is the buildup of prejudice and fear,
That Change is when humans grow tired
Of hearing the rain fall on deaf ears,
Watching people with umbrellas wondering
Why those without are getting wet.
This is to call upon Love,
The accumulation of Compassion,
Encourager of Empathy,
The feeling of sunshine when you smile at me.
Hope is the keeper of faith,
Knowledge that tomorrow isn't always the same,
That even in the dark months, sunlight is inevitable,
And eventually we all reach the end of the tunnel,
Hope knows sometimes Change has to Rain down
Upon the lands of dry grass and wildfires,
That floods are a risk when the dirt has lost its purpose,
But new foliage grows where the ground once cried out,
So we may one day sustain ourselves on the land
We thought could never bear more life,
The world we thought could never Change.

(A) il||li(つд-｡)il||li
Hey my dearest friend, help me I am growing self-conscious
Society’s expectations make me anxious

(B) (٭′ᵕુ‵)ુ(ૂ′ᵕ‵ॢං)
I carry your troubles(I carry it in my heart)
For you are work of sacred art

Wakeful and aware of my feet against the floor,
Alive in a vast labyrinth of precious tomes,
their pages soft beneath my fingertips,
Their covers defensively misleading.

How beautiful, really, to be able to read them,
Be it a chapter, a page, or even a few lines.
Reading deep into precious texts
that don’t know they’re being read.

Unaware of the stories, written out in neurons, told through fluttered lashes,
And the twitch of a nose,
Pictures painted by the wide sweeping motions of searching irises,
blind to their own vibrant illustrations.

Each story searches for its conclusion
within the pages of another,
Trying to navigate itself through an index
That is not its own.

Perhaps someday I’ll find such beauty in my own weathered pages,
when my spine has split and my text has faded,
When I am a complete person built of indented paragraphs,
an entire soul typed out in times new roman.