my generation has a tangible sadness
       muslin cloth bogged by water
       steamed milk, warm and wrong
       lipstick messages on mirrors to reflect the sunken eyes and tear-streaked
       cheeks
I've heard too many stories
of almost-suicides,
sweet like ***** left in a corner
and my voice grows coarse from screaming
       "I love you"
to people who don't hear it often enough
and I stay up late
and miss my deadlines
because I need to be the mediator
of their silent civil wars

my generation wants to hibernate
and shed our skin when winter is over,
for we've dug our nails
into our palms for too long
and now we've cracked and bled
a pretty crimson on the snow
the last breaths become smokestacks
of a machine that doesn't stop
no matter how many people press the button,
and when each body is laid
in the frozen earth,
I hope you read the letters
and refrain from telling us to be
      complacent.

trees
filled with rain and longing
of summer days that never come
they've been promised
the snow for a short time
but they must endure
because the sap signs no contracts
and the sky still cries

when do the leaves return?
when do the birds sing hallelujah
and when do the daffodils show their heads?
for the winter bites hard
and doesn't release its clenches
until someone takes it last breath
and slowly does it back away,
leaving gasping lungs in its wake

still the trees wait for light.

sometimes
when I look into the mirror
I hate what I see
       a nose like a mountain
       skin with deep valleys
       under eyes like the dark side of the moon

and I think
"how do I cover this up?"
the imperfections never fade
just like the years
of life etched into my skin
so many seas of tears absorbed
so many laughs crinkled like tissue paper
so many squints before the spectacles
and I'm only seventeen

so many shades of red
       embarrassment, anger, warmth of a crush
so many timid smiles and shaky lips
so many "I love you's" and too many goodbyes
so many stars these eyes have watched
and so many flavors this nose has smelled
       home is vanilla, adventure is cardamom, fear is artificial cherry

so many lives this face has lived
and though I tug and pop and cover it up
a life just beginning peeks out
for another glance
another sniff
another smile
because I know there are so many left to give
and deep rivers in my face when I reach a wiser age
will only go to show that I did it all

sometimes I have to tell myself
not to stare too long at the sky
because it reminds me of the
vastness of this life
that there are more stars
than thoughts in my head
(and that's a really big number)
that there is more pain in the universe
that will never stop til we're all
six
feet
under
and it's better for my tiny brain
if I just stop thinking,
the smoke from the cogs
becoming tears on my cheeks
and my pillow at night

sometimes I listen to the muffled music
in the kitchen,
Maxwell singing about some woman's work
while my own mother refuses to cry
and I realize that the apple doesn't fall
    far
          from the
                         tree
we both check the locks three times
before bed
and listen to sad music for serotonin
and deny, deny, deny
that we're the ones who are wrong

and sometimes I get texts from friends
at 11 pm
telling me that they don't want to exist
and I think "yeah, doesn't everyone?"
because how good would it be
to not take up space,
to lay in a fourth dimension
of no feeling and just peace?

so no,
I don't like looking at the sky too much
because the blue reminds me of eyes
full of tears
and I don't like how the trees
can lose their leaves
but I'm stuck with my brain
f o r e v e r
I don't like how the clouds
can rain down and shout
without wondering who they are disturbing
and everything
moves
in cycles
when I can't even move an inch

in a masked world,
I smile with my eyes
and hope I don't come off unfriendly.
I laugh with my shoulders and
miss freedom
and play poker with God,
betting my life
as He ups the ante.
I hand him my bet
with chapped hands,
smelling like chemicals,
and risk my life
at Target.