Adolescence, I carry you, bound like a heavy weight upon my back. Clinging to a hope of release, daring to believe in age. Even in the dark, I search. hoping to find a simple light. Though it is night, I leap, in faith. I strive, journeying to the end. Creating energy, looking for something, anything, a sign – no – a reason. Emotions lingering, pestered with grief. I pray my mind quiets, resting in the process. My suffering soul, tacked with thorns under the stars in its valiant survival. Wandering spirit with a shadow behind, youth is wearisome.

As They


And I tossed and I turned
at the idea that
I was still breathing
despite everything in me
and everything I dream
bringing me back
to the nightmare
I left
as they sleep peacefully
in their own little web.

The Ways


I walked the length
of my childhood home,
and did not know
the new way
it was clothed.
And then I wondered
if I knew myself
or have I left
myself alone
and never known
the ways I’ve grown.

When I Was


When I was young,
there was a field
across my street.

In the summer,
it would be filled,
with grandmothers
and their gardens.
In the fall,
it would burn,
and smoke.
In the winter,
I would run,
with burning lungs,
and light steps.

These gardens
were bought
by a runaway president,
who made them into
concrete and towers,
that blocked the sky
and the birds.

but I still feel
the way the snow
fought to remove
my boot from my step
and the air
grey and thick
as the ground
prepared for frost,
as my breathe
joined the wind
and I did not
have to end
my search
for where
the sun
met the trees.

I still run
in that field
even though
it only exists
in my mind.

I still,
even though
we are
both gone.