A poem from my 12-year-old self:


They see no flowers, only thorns
They see no frost, only cold
They see no stars, only night

I see flowers and prick my hands
I see frost and freeze in the cold
I see stars and trip in the dark

And yet... I pity them

I hurt more and they love less.
They don't hurt but they can't see.

-

The other knights went off to fight dragons
But my sword is too heavy for me to join
They all rush out
In their gleaming armor and perfect blades
Held by strong, perfect hands
And I sit with my own inadequate form
In the barracks
I could use my bow, I think
I could bring medicine
Or carry a shield
My feet stay planted on the floor
I'm given sword after sword
But none of them seem to be up to par
I sit in a pile of blades and armor
I haven't a use for
At first, they are too heavy
Too rusted
Too bloody
Too hot
But now, as I lay here
I realize I cannot grip a handle so small
It feels silly that I thought I might need one
But the knights are all out slaying dragons!
How beloved they must be!
How delightful it must feel
To be a hero!
The pile beneath me keeps growing
And I find it a comfortable place to rest
As I settle onto my gleaming nest
I imagine mighty feats
I might accomplish
And beasts
I will vanquish
The cold settles comfortably into my scales
And I sleep

-

Fog
(Full piece in caption)

-

When you sleep beside me
A quiet settles over the room
That goes far deeper than the sound I quell
There's a trust in rest
That goes unspoken
You hand it to me
Without thinking

I sit on the carpet beside your bed
So I do not wake you with my movements
I'm not quite alone,
But you aren't exactly here, are you?
Your gentle breathing fills the space
That words would

This limbo between solitude and company
Is such a mundane, enchanted thing
There is no word for these moments
For this calm that hangs
But I cherish it
Each time

-

Digest another butterfly
Or try to, feel it crystalize
Add a gem
To the pile
In your gut

One day, when you die,
These stones will be all that's left of you
They will be coveted
Extracted from your gravesite
And displayed in a museum
Finally, they will be seen
And when they are seen
Under fluorescent lights
They will be misconstrued as beautiful
For nobody left will know
How they hurt

-

Cockroach Thoughts

I wait patiently
for the other shoe to drop
perhaps
this time
it will not miss

-

I know my voice is hoarse
But you lend a tender ear
Ask me what I need
Act like you didn't hear
Then coax me into breaking down
Just to keep me near
Hold out a jar of honey
You'll never share
To ease my fears
Then you tell me I'm too hoarse
For your tender ears
Ask me not to speak
By chastising the sincere
And tomorrow, you'll return
To coax me back to tears
And I'll try to speak again
And you'll pretend you do not hear

-

A muted world
A muddy teal
Brittle sand
Under his heels
The wind will pass
Through hair and clothes
The man will linger
Chilled to bone
For on the sea
The sun is red
The only warmth
Lies just ahead
But alas
He cannot swim
Perhaps the tides
Might drag him in

-

I'd wear my heart on my sleeve

If I thought it could break

But it seems to break others instead

-

I grew up singing
And wearing your colors
Setting off fireworks each year
Lights in the sky
As benign explosions
Taught me to watch
But cover my ears
And I admit that I never
Knew much about you
But then again
Whose fault was that
And ignorance made it
Easy to love you
But trust fizzled out
As I learned the facts
I wish that your arms
Were made just to hold me
That your hands were here to protect
But I bare my ears
And I can hear screaming
One day
I will wish I had left

-