I miss when fireworks were thrilling 

The crashing thrum of air compressed for a split second,

A heartbeat in the dark,

Colours exploding out at high velocity,

Then drifting down, wilting away 

Like petals on a glowing skyborn flower.

When they didn't mean something else,

Hold memories of falling and bridges, sinking

And bombs plastering the Holy lands.

I miss when fireworks were thrilling

And didn't summon a panic attack,

Get stuck in my chest like a drum

That refuses to stop pumping just a bit too fast,

The screams not reminding me that I need to breath,

And weren't a 'just too much at once'.

I miss when fireworks were simple and happy

And didn't mean looking at the rotting core of a country 

That the bursts are meant to celebrate. 

not in the way

you would expect

When I dive into tales

inspiration lurks

sometimes in my reach

sometimes too deep for me

never where I expect

When I emerge

full on ideas

I dive into yet another

steal some inspiration

and then find ways

to play with the

alchemy of the mind

weaving, twisting

tales of my own 

When I see a falcon dive

the wind is knocked out of me

it's as if I was watching for the first time

When I see that creature with the grace of a killer

it's as if I have left my body entirely, only to be flying,

flying alongside the fastest being alive, slip from the heavens

I have the grin of a madman only because there's a fire inside me

only because I'm falling with control, only because the line between chaos

and order has just been crossed, the line between life and death has just been

crossed, the line between fact and fiction has just been crossed. You might think I'm

insane, deranged, good, because I'm not there, I high above your head, my wings tucked

behind my back. And no one can pin me down. I'm the most alive I have ever been. It's just as

fast as it came it has gone. I am no longer alive, back into life, the fire has lost it's meaning.

I wrote the first one a few months ago and the second one today after rereading it. I finally cut my hair short a few days ago and it's amazing :D

stare in a mirror and there’s someone trapped behind the glass

following me, watching

my every move, her hands like those gecko silly hands she got from the dentist five years ago

sticking dragging me down through the prison of memories

jailing me or her / both of us? / does she want to live as well?

who is she and why am I haunted

by a ghost of my present self, manifestation of hatred without the devil horns

never enough but it aches more this way

if it’s anything

but numb, warmth always hurts after frostbite and maybe the icicle in my heart is here to stay, frozen

(I am microwaved meals: pre-packaged, mislabeled, and soggy throughout)

but it’s better this way, if not for both of us, for her

and when she steps out of the mirror and into my soul it doesn’t matter what I pretend to feel because I’m trapped

just nobody can see me like they see her, another vampire reflection

those tinted windows never work; fuzzy silhouettes bring more pain

punch the maze of glass and it will shatter, feel justified in becoming mirrored across the broken shards

pick them up and piece my heart back together, they will lose their shine

and the girl behind the silver will leave

(will I miss her?)

rabbits and runs and rumination

in the summer,

the morning is the only time cool enough to run.

I wake up early,

drive to the high school track,

run circle after circle after circle until

my legs start to stumble and

my chest starts to ache and

my heart starts to stutter and

then I drive home with the air conditioner on full blast.

morning after morning after morning,

I cling to the repetition

yet somehow still long for a sense of change.

my favorite part of my run is the rabbits.

they've burrowed beneath the track,

a nuisance to school maintenance,

but I can't help the sweet anticipation of

seeing their tiny noses peek out of the dirt and 

their feet scamper across the field and

their ears perk up as I pass by.

although, I've never understood why

they've chose the track as a home.

a hundred feet away,

across the dirt road,

is a meadow.

it fills with wildflowers in the spring and

has a gentle creek meandering through and

is carpeted with thick green sprouts and

yet the rabbits live beneath the high school track.

have they never dared to step outside their maze of burrows?

never dared to cross the street?

never seen what bliss is awaiting them so close by?

that's why I keep telling you I'm going to leave.

I'm not going to be another rabbit rotting away in this town,

running in circles until I collapse.

what could be waiting for me?

for us?

if we just crossed the dirt road?

so on another note, I'm leaving home for a month long writing program soon!! which either means I'll be MIA for a while or I'll be posting a ton of poetry--we shall see. but just wanted to say thanks to everyone who's been commenting on my work over the years. thirteen year old me would never have dreamed of being accepted to this program, so I'm very very grateful that I started posting my poetry on here <3 love you guys!!

Wooden words, stilted speech

A distant father uttering encouragement for the first time

"You did good"

I hold in my head the "it's you did well,"

Hold it down and smother it until it's gone,

The missing breath filled with feathers from my pillow

Just be thankful for what you get,

Don't ask for more 

Or 

You will be sorely disappointed.

Don't expect for this

again

Lest you be let down

again. 

Hold your tongue in your pocket,

Wrapped tight in a well-worn handkerchief

Embroidered with a name you don't use anymore,

Bind it as tight as the Ace bandage wrapped

Around your chest,

Squeezing the air out before you can even take it in,

Warping your ribs and twisting in your stomach

When you are branded, squirming and struggling,

With a stern "young lady." 

It pinches, burning, just like the piercings in your ears

--You did them yourself--

And the follows sizzling shame in your cheeks

When you were scolded for it, called a freak.

Hold your tongue in your pocket, squeezing

Tiny red half-cresents into your palms

But it doesn't matter 'cause you still look pretty

Even if you can't see it in the mirror.

That's all they care about, you know.

You're still pretty after cutting your hair off

You're still pretty after eating for the first time in days

You're still pretty even with all your scars.

You're pretty, they say

Maybe they don't mean it 

But did you really need them to tell you

To believe it?