It's beautiful,
the sun rising.
It's beautiful,
the sun setting.
For how it coloured the sky,
into a combination,
of rose quartz and serenity.
For every time,
the colour changed.
It's beautiful,
how I thought of them.
For every time,
I stare at the pantone sky,
and paint colour in my eyes,
ㅡ I know, they felt the same.

Dear Dais,
Mom and dad aren’t together anymore. I know you won’t believe it because I still don’t. It wasn’t your fault. Dad just did some stupid things. And it wasn’t mom‘s fault, she gave him enough chances. Right now you’re doing okay. You’re 17 now and graduation is right around the corner. It’s taken you three high schools and lots of tears to finish, but you’re going to make it. You’re an aunt now even though you really see your nephew. You’re 2 & 1/2 years clean. That means you no longer do drugs, drink, and stay out too late with boys. You’ve been very very sad at times, sometimes to the point where you would draw on your arms with something sharp. You stopped that. At one point you wouldn’t eat. You got over that. You finally let God into your life. You let boys and fake friends hurt you but now you’re stronger than them. You still get sad sometimes, but you’ve came a long way. I’m proud of you. I’m proud. You might not understand right now, but one day you will. Don’t try so hard to grow up, because I’d give anything just to be a kid for a day. Life is hard, but through everything to come, you will make it through. You will go through a lot, more than you thought. But you won’t give up because you’re much stronger than any superhero there ever was. Stay strong girl.
~ Daisy Rae
11-13-17

You're favorite color was red,
like love
and blood.

I think about this as I gaze at the roses outside my window
they are so beautyful, yet so strong.

There are seventeen roses on the rosebuish.
That was your licky number,
you told me.

Well, I felt so lucky with you.
But now I see that I must have walked under a scarlet ladder
because I have lost you

or maybe a black cat crossed my path
or seventeen red cats.

I don't know what happened. All I know
is that I miss you,
and you're two red lips.

they say that we're not unique
like we think we are
and perhaps that is true
but i'm not joking when i say
that there is no one else like you-
or rather, there was no one else like you

everything about you stood out
from your smile that reached
from corner to corner of your cheek
eyes dark as night yet sparkled so bright
long hair of ebony-colored silk
and the most genuine laugh
anyone has ever heard

there is a face missing in the hall
they all think i don't notice at all
but they don't know the truth
my heart aches for you
how i regret what was
how i mourn what could have been
how i can't quite comprehend
that this is your end

your name rhymes with your age
both imprinted on my brain, a permanent tattoo-
seventeen
forever seventeen and gone too soon
your future stolen from you
by what you felt you had to do

they say that everyone loves you
when you're six foot in the ground
but in your case, that's not true-
everyone loves you, period
sometimes words aren't enough
but i hope you know, wherever you are
i hope you gather up our love
and take it with you when you fly away
soaring high above us all

fly away, sweet creature
find the peace that you yearned for
on earth in the good place
find everything that you deserved
and much, much more
i wish you nothing but happiness
i'm only sorry you couldn't find it here

we all hold you near our hearts
so it's okay if you fly away
goodbye, angel-
it will be a while
before any of us see you again
but i know we will all
be together again someday
when we too meet our end

the prophets and all the grownups were right
when they said that 17 was a beautiful age.
it is the age of falling in love,
when we are still young enough to hang onto a thread
but old enough to know better.
17 is being on the verge of entering
into the dreaded age of responsibility,
but wanting something more
than what this youth permits.
17 is a transitional time,
when the heart may know not its place
but what it beats for.
17 is a strange time
of learning and growing and being,
and i suppose we will all always be
who we were at seventeen.

How long should I sit here and pretend that I haven't wanted to end it for 17 years?
How long should I say 'I'm good' when I was just crying the bathroom ten minutes ago?
How long should I stare in the mirror and say 'Maybe I'll cut my hair tomorrow' knowing deep down I won't go for the next six months.
How long should I avoid the inevitable?
How long is too long?
How long can I look at this world, this society, and think that this is the type of world I want to live in?