"I'm sorry."
Sorry for what?
Sorry for not caring?
Sorry for all the times you were
forced to say it?
Sorry for every time
you weren't?
Cause yeah.
Me too.

It hurts, you know.
That I wasn't there, to save you.
I wouldn't have been able to anyway,
but I would have tried.
So I will remember you,
Everyday.
I'll see you in your brothers,
And hear you in every piece.
And I'd like to dedicate this writing,
In loving memory.




Dedicated to Edgar.

Do you know what I want
more than anything?

I want to understand why it takes
so much pain to be able to
describe in detail
how the sky bends.

I want to understand why you caused me to see your eyes as pale instead of piercing.

I want to understand why a pretty face and slim waist is valued over a higher understanding and a way with words.

I want to understand why something is considered beautifully written, just because it hurts to write.

I want to understand the world, but that's asking a bit much, so I'll settle for this:

I want to understand you.

We watched
With shells in our bags
Dominoes in boxes,
Marionette distractions
Letter passing
Pure manipulation
Colors of our childhoods
A brother through window pain
And learned to see beauty
Without having to understand

I've listened to the same song
For weeks

I cut my hair short cause I was feeling edgy

I wrote a screen play about abuse ****** and insanity

You want to know why I stay anonymous?

Because if you don't know my name, age, religion or position,

You can't believe my name is the definition of innocence.

You
My best friend
Layed out your heart
Fears, tears and vulnerability
In a room
That should have been locked
Laughed at a donut left behind
Described your depression
A terrifying look inside
And we sat there
Emotionally exhausted
Broken
But broken together.

My poems don't rhyme
Because I
Like it better
This way
Simply rhyming words
Doesn't make a poem
It needs meaning
Not just the
Teaming
Of words that sound
Alike.

So they showed us the trees,
And told us to write.
Beauty and
overly-accurate descriptions
Expected.
Write about trees, they said,
But not about trees.
Write about roots,
And families,
And graves,
And anything you can stretch to
Relate to a tree.
But that's not my thing,
So I'm going to write about
Something else.

The people are staring at me.
Glaring, almost.
They don't want the teenager
On her phone.
Oh no, she should be
LISTENING.
They don't know
I'm writing poetry,
While they look for faults
In the tulip tree.
They nod their heads in agreement
To infections of the olive tree.
I'm on the ground,
So I look at their shoes.
You can tell a lot about a person
By the shoes they wear.
So they learn about trees,
While I learn about them.
I play Sherlock Holmes
And try to guess their
Personalities by their appearances,
Not really listening to the
Ranger man
Tell us about the
Growing process of a Ginkgo Tree
He talks about a Smerf,
And I absentmindedly ignore him
As I stare at the eyes
of my favorite type of tree.
I give him credit for trying,
Because while he doesn't have
My attention,
He appears to have everyone else's.
Soon, we gather around another tree.
He calls it 70 ft.
I call it big.
The sprinklers turn on,
And we laugh and move,
And we watch the squirrels
Play in the trees.
He makes a joke, and we laugh again.
It was a good time.

So I learned a lot today.
And while I came here
To learn about the trees,
I learned a whole lot more
About the people.

What do you mean,
you're low on space?
Your want me to
delete some of the thing
on your memory
and intentionally give you
technological amnesia?

Toy: a thing or matter of no value or importance
Doll, plaything, trinket
Handled, moved, manipulated;
Exploited, fondled, groped

These words should send a chill down every girl's spine
They should raise the hair on their arms,
Make them look over their shoulder one extra time when they go outside
Replace a few hours of sleep with nightmares of terror.

Because here, you are nothing more than a toy.
You are not human with hope, dreams, and aspirations.
You cannot conduct yourself with dignity, maturity, and respect.
You are nothing but a body, here to be a toy.

Remember that, as a woman, your safety is worth nothing.
Remember that a ******'s fear for his safety is more concerning that a 15 year old girl's.
Remember that your dignity, your self worth, your self respect, your entire identity
Isn't worth more than a couple months in county jail to a man.

A woman’s ability to create life is not even her own.
It is something that is debated between men a thousand miles away.
It is something that is controlled by the hand of a man.
The most basic right and role of a woman is stripped from them.

To a man you an object.
There is no difference between you and the doormat into a man's house.
You are thrown on the ground, covered in pine needles, and walked all over.
No difference.

A woman’s concerns can be dismissed because this is just “locker room banter”
You are used as a ploy to further a man’s political presence.
This is a part of our daily lives now.
Get used to it.

We will no longer teach our children to stay away from drugs and be safe around wild animals
We will teach our daughters to fear a beard instead of the click of a gun.
We will teach them to be afraid of their fathers and their brothers, simply for their own safety.

They will be forced to cover themselves.
Hide their joyful smiles. Cover graceful legs. Mask skillful hands.
Because otherwise, they will be blamed for their maltreatment, told that they asked for it.
They still might be, because, remember, a woman’s word means nothing.

Toy: a thing or matter of no value or importance.
Doll, plaything, trinket.
Handled, moved, manipulated.
Exploited, fondled, groped.

I am a woman. I am no more than a toy.