New Year

January 2016. In search of a better conclusion.

On Thursday night, as every year, the humans met in Times Square

Bringing their alcohol blankets and their Instagram cameras

Dragging their acquaintances and their maybe midnight kisses

Planning the stories they would tell, the filters they would use, the lives they would portray

Gathering in the mist of a year already half forgotten

Television networks from Atlanta to Augusta warned of the rain as announcers from Augusta to Atlanta thanked their hidden stars that they had only the rain to worry about.

They stared straight at the camera, smiles unchanging.

Can you even remember a New Year's Eve this warm, Charlie?

Absolutely not, Donna. What a day.

Barely blinking.

I, too, traveled for the holiday

Spent the six hour trip to Raleigh writing to those I hoped would not forget me

Five letters in six hours

I hope you're doing well

My trip to Cape Town in June was wonderful

I live in the city now, I took the corporate job

My soul isn't gone yet, I think

Ha ha

I've been volunteering with the Girl Scouts

Teaching myself a couple languages on the side

Rock climbing when I can't find mountains

(and I never can)

I'm meeting people, don't worry

Just this week someone added me on LinkedIn

Have a delightful New Year

Sincerely yours

Pragmatically yours?

Intentionally yours.

The Editorials and the Lifestyle pages told of others' resolutions

Humans who promised to run half a marathon, start a garden, tip higher, smile brighter

I, too, resolved

To get more involved in the community, to read, to travel

All of us planning not merely to do those things, but to become the sorts of people who would do them

We went along like that all fall and into the holidays

All of us

Feigning shock at the weather

Speaking to friends old and new, smiles unchanging

Telling of fireworks and family

Barely blinking

Silently thankful for climate change

And how the climate changed

On Friday morning, as every year, the ball fell

The temperature fell

The snow did not fall for it was too cold for snow, so the sun shone right through to the frozen puddles, as the remnants of last year's mist crystallized on oaks and concrete

By Monday, the humans returned to work in two extra layers

Those who left last year in light blazers and thin shoes arrived in defeat

Their faces too cold to hide the shock of transition

A chill too severe even for their best peacoats

Directors and middle managers and interns hurried together

The wind reddening all of their noses

Cutting their breath indiscriminately

From the window of the bus or of the office, I could only sit and admire

The honesty in the all-too-clear air of a new year

Something charming in the desperation of people whose typically-unchanging ensembles were interrupted by thick scarves and silly knit hats

People who had worked far too hard and far too long for it all to come to this

Whose names were too well recognized to merit such mistreatment by so pedestrian a force

I cannot speak for the others, for the success of their resolutions

But shocked into January's honesty, I have to second guess my own

Wonder whether I wanted to get involved or to make friends

To read or to sound well read

To travel or to seem adventurous

Had we all just resolved to seem to become the sorts of people who would accomplish our grand resolutions?

Maybe the clarity of a new year was meant

To make us human after all.

If I Took You to Seattle

July 2013. Please excuse my poor geography.

If I took you to Seattle

-and I'd take you to Seattle-

we'd go by bus

and on the way

I'd point out all the hills

-even though you'd already have noticed-

and every coffee shop

-though you'd have noticed those too-

and we'd step off wherever you wanted.

We could go to Montlake

Watch canoers under the bridge

Play Frisbee at the university

Dodge cyclists by beautiful old houses and evergreens

Get on a bus to Rainier Avenue

Walk through the International District and talk to interesting strangers

Hear their stories over pho or dim sum

And when we got lost on diagonal streets

With no sun to give us directions

-and there would be no sun

in late morning in Seattle-

Walk up the nearest hill

Scan the horizon for the needle in the sky

And go

Until we could touch the steel

Run in the fountain

Smell the salmon and gyros and fried rice

Watch the festival

-and there'd be a festival-

And head west until there was no more west

Watch the sailboats

Feel the salt water in our faces

Wait for the clouds to clear

So you would believe me

about Seattle summers.

We'd go up to the market

See the locals and friends and tourists

The flying fish and golden pig

Try honey lavender ice cream

And when you'd had your fill

Of fresh cherries and accidental hipsters

We'd find a ferry

Face the wind

Breathe in the saltwater

Point out Rainier and Baker

-southeast and northeast-

Scan for orcas

Hitch a ride to the other side

And kayak right across the canal

Cross the barnacle-ridden oyster beaches

Pass the geoduck jellyfish mess

Lunch under madronas

-I love the madronas-

Just keep walking up, up, up

Through the world of ghost pipe and banana slugs

Where the contour lines get too close to count

And you can't quite tell which way will be up or down

Where the wrong turn could bring Mystery or Deception

But the right turn could lead to Sol Duc or Ozette

(maybe not quite Ozette)

But to Duckabush, Dungeness, Dosewallips

Or Klahane or Elwha or Hoh

From the marmots and osprey to spruce and bellflower

And down to the mussels and seagulls once more

But of course by this point we'd be far past Seattle

Far past the scope of one dry afternoon

So after all this we'd return to the city

And head back to town as Seattleites do

I Love You For

I am going through old notes and realizing that I have poems from years ago. This is from December 2014.

I Love You For

I've read that some people are told,

every day of their lives,

"You are beautiful"

"You are beautiful"

"You are beautiful"

So exclusively and for so long

that they start to hear

"I love you for your shoulders"

"You have gifted the world with your jawline"

"Your value is embedded in your cuticles"

and in nothing else

So, too, when I read your work

I want to say to you

"This is good"

"This is good"

"This is good"

Over and over and over

But I am so afraid to compliment you

Lest you begin to hear

"I love you for your witticisms"

"You have gifted the world with your poetry"

"Your value is embedded in your commentary"

and in nothing else

But I start to wonder

what can I say?

How can I tell you I love you so much that you love yourself?

I love you for your intelligence, your critical mind, your way of discussing

But if we disagree

If I tell you that you are wrong in my eyes

In the way that we define a certain word

Or the author's intent in that sentence

Will you mistake my intent?

Diminish the value in your own brilliant worldview?

I want to give you a friendship that cannot be unwound

And validation that is beyond doubt

But maybe that is too much to offer

Perhaps it is not mine to give

Lent

Marsha from church asks if my family celebrates Lent and I say no

My father's parents both went to seminary but me?

I don't know what happens between Mardi Gras and Good Friday

After twenty years of going to church—and I love going to church—I don't know the first thing about it

Lisa's giving up chocolate and I thought about it

Thought about the good it would do for my budget, my waistline, my self confidence

I am Discipline. I can go forty days without chocolate.

And so I didn't.

I don't know about ashes on people's foreheads or semi-vegetarians but I do know that my God will probably not be impressed if I can go forty days without chocolate

And I don't know as much about trade routes or the Middle East or even Christianity as I should, but I don't think Jesus ate much chocolate

He would probably not be impressed either

People have told me that it's all about being closer to God

That every time you forgo a Hershey's bar, you will remember why

Feel it in your heart

Remember the sacrifice He paid

But I think

That I would feel it in my stomach

And forget about the heart

And I am good at forgetting about the heart

Good at not having feelings

Talking about deep passion for history or languages or rock climbing

As if you could ever love an idea as much as you can love a person

I am great at rejecting people

Intentionally or not

Romantically or not

Telling them no and I'm sorry, or staring them down before they ever ask

I started writing down things I might give up for lent

Salt and vinegar chips

Facebook

Sleeping past ten

Mirrors

Insults

Lying by omission

But I didn't give up any of them

They were too ingrained in my world

Critical aspects of my being

And I introduce myself many ways, but there is a lot that I miss

"This is my name, and I look in the mirror once an hour"

"This is my name, and I think I got an A in history last semester because I stared the professor down whenever I disagreed with him"

"This is my name, and I usually forget to tell people I'm bisexual because I'm busy telling l them I don't have feelings"

Is that a lie by omission?

I spend a lot of time at church and there's a lot I don't know

But I don't think my God is a god of dishonesty

There is a lot I don't know

But I have heard that my God is a god of love

And I may not be Discipline, but I know that I am Certainty

And I think that a God who is made of love

A God who created love

And who, I'm told, created us to love

Would not have created us wrong

Have created me wrong

Created me to love wrong

I finished a bag of salt and vinegar chips while writing this poem

And I will probably sleep past ten tomorrow

Even though my alarm goes off at nine

And my god won't love me the less for it

But I have heard that love must come with honesty

And that I cannot love people and continue to forget to say anything

And the truth is that I do forget

That even if I never fall in love—and I might not—

I do love

And in the interest of honesty,

Maybe this Lent I will give up forgetting

To the chivalrous men in your well-tailored armor

I thought about apologizing for this poem

Then I thought about every article I've read about women apologizing too much.

I am not angry, but I am not sorry.

To the chivalrous men in your well-tailored armor

Do not call me oversensitive

I am not.

In your false passion/reason dichotomy,

I am cold as rock.

When the women go to the salon for manicures and gossip

Because centuries upon centuries of gender stereotypes and private sphere bullshit have given them that role

And then mocked their petty lives

When they watch romantic comedies and bake cookies together

To get over the men who broke their hearts

Because they have been taught that men break and women are broken

And all that heteronormative active/passive garbage

When they sit in their book clubs and talk about people and feelings

I will be long gone

So don't call me oversensitive.

Do not tell me these are isolated incidents

That I've let this whole thing get to my head

Need to take a step back

I have stepped back so far, all I can see is the big picture

And let me tell you about institutional oppression

There are no isolated incidents

Do not tell me that women's issues are simply none of your business

I recognize that you don't feel responsible

I don't hurt women, I respect them, I protect them

I understand that nobody thinks this is their fault

But this is everyone's business

And the next time I hear you tell someone to man up

Or defend your definition of chivalry

Your duty to protect the fragile female

(I know you don't believe you think I'm fragile)

I will remind you how responsible you are

Do I look like I need your protection?

Don't call me oversensitive

And the problem is this

I believe you when you tell me

I would never touch someone without asking

Damn straight you wouldn't.

I believe that you trust my knowledge and intelligence

Without doubting me on the grounds of my

Natural incapacity for higher thought

But sir

Every time you have noted that someone's skirt was too short

Shirt was too low

Mocked her for wearing what she wants

Agreed with an authority who told her not to distract the boys

As if their distraction is her fault

You are blaming a victim.

For every time you excused oppression

It's a cultural thing

Maybe that's just how things work over there

In that part if the world

For every time you have laughed at a prostitute joke

Read an article and said

She should have known not to walk alone

Not to visit that part of town

Sir that is rape culture.

You are still a perpetrator.

But this isn't about rape

Every time you say

It's a guy thing

I just don't understand women

Women are naturally more risk-averse. It's their maternal instinct.

Fuck maternal instincts.

Let's climb a mountain together

Then you can tell me I am risk averse

When you complain about female privilege

About girls who get free drinks

You can take back my drink and give me free birth control

Take back your protection and give me female superheroes

Take back your offer to walk with me in the bad part of town

And stop objectifying us in the first place

Stop judging me if I am not well dressed

And then mocking me when I go shopping

Stop standing up to give me a seat on the bus

And start standing up to give me a seat in congress

So when you and your chivalrous army come around in your well-tailored armor

Only to find that I, too, have shields
And I have been fighting for years

Maybe stick around and look who I'm fighting

Instead of helping me off the battlefield, back into my private sphere

Don't call me oversensitive.

First Rain of the Year

And it pours
And all of us in our thick down jackets and
Warm snow boots
Had nearly forgotten

We had been overcome
By the icicle trees
By long scarves and gloves that were
Never thick enough
By bright blue skies when it was
Too, too cold for snow
And how delighted we had been
When it warmed up to blizzard weather
And we could run outside and trip in the snow banks and
Brush fresh flakes from our eyelashes
Without fearing that our
Nose hairs
Might freeze
How delightful indeed

So we had forgotten about rain
And what devastation!
When at last we awoke
What rude reminding!
As we go out for the first time
To the unmistakeable grey
Above, below, and as far ahead as we can see

We had forgotten the rain
That seeps through the holes in our Converse
And soaks our favorite down jackets
You can hear the shock everywhere
"...feel like a walrus..."
"...home during the monsooon seasons..."
"...wait for summer and flip flops..."
"...SO COLD."
And everyone who had been thrilled by the frozen pond
And those who had begged for the snow to melt
Come together in
Sheer detestation

First rain of the year
And we sit by our windows
And drink the cocoa we had saved
For one final blizzard
"Just in case"
And watch the water flow down the
Twisting sidewalks
Melting feet of snow in hours
And see our fellow students
Shaking off their umbrellas
Adjusting their socks inside their galoshes
Jumping over wide flows of dirtied slush

Every year we forget
Look forward to springtime and sunshine
Forgetting real spring
Forgetting April showers

First rain of the year
And it's barely March

The things she carries

She carries her sorrows upon her back
They cut her like tattoos
And every sad person she's ever met
And every drop of booze

Weighs down upon her shoulder blades
And grates upon her spine
So she assumes there's something more
When you say you feel fine

"I knew a person like you once
Her smile was a façade"
And so she doubts your happiness,
Your honesty, your God

At best she is a critic,
Her perceptions often great
But oh, at worst, how she condemns
How deeply can she hate

So when we make her smile
She's still got plenty to unpack
But when we let her down,
She holds the memory on her back

Alpine

The woods are lovely, dark, and deep
And oh, the secrets that they keep
Between tall firs and hidden streams
Lie long-lost hopes and broken dreams

To think-backpacking on the shore!
Dolphins and seashells! But be warned
Of hurried tides and angry waves
And dark and dangerous sea caves

Madrona trees are well aware
The tall, tall cedars? They don't dare
To reach for the alpine terrain
For they know there's more loss than gain

But naïve us, we trek on through
For blossoms red and skies of blue
What great surprise, and what a fright!
When we discover trails of white

The trolls and fairies could have told
That it's half silver, half fool's gold
The ghost pipes whistle, for they know
The dangers of impending snow

We go through every kind of trail
Through creek and mud, through ice and shale
And when the hill is just too steep
We use a rope and up we creep

Sometimes the fog and cold are hell
But oh, we learn our lessons well
Loud mammals when the sky was black
But not once would we have turned back

So through the forest, bugs in ears
Smoke in our eyes, wet wood and tears
Up on the mountain, by the shore
There's no place I have enjoyed more

Here She Comes

I want to warn them about you
Tell them not to be fooled by your charm
Your intelligence
Your friendly demeanor and fabulous clothes
I want to warn them because I see
They already like you
They already underestimate you
Believe you to be your surface self
I want to shout to them
SHE IS NOT A CHILD
Not because I want to defend you
But because I want to defend them
I want to explain to them
That your lighthearted whimsy is not a phase
That your need to escape cannot be assuaged
Even by escaping
Seeing them see you
To whisper
Watch out boy, she'll chew you up
If only to say, later
Told you so
Because they would not believe me
Not for a moment
I want to tell them they are not unique
That you are always intrigued
Always amused
Always delighted
Couldn't break a heart even if you wanted to
But oh, the hearts you break
I would lie
Sit by them at dinner
Or pass notes in class
She's lesbian
But enamored men don't believe in lesbians
So I'll stick to my front row seat
Reserved as a gift
Season tickets to a series of dramas
Writing notes in the program
Watch out boy

Ode to Home

You say I do not remember

But you never even knew

What do you know of our mountains?

What are apple trees to you?

I remember how the rain comes

In the middle of the night

Doesn't leave for six months straight for

Skies of blue or ground of white

I remember every oyster

That the tide has overturned

And for every one match fire,

I remember how it burned

I remember alpine meadows

Topped with snow in mid July

And I've seen the baby dolphin

I have watched the osprey fly

When you tell me of your cities

How your climate is the best

Wait and learn about my ocean

Spend a year or two out west

I remember foggy beaches

Only stones along the shores

But I'd take the barnacle rocks

Over any sands of yours

Where it's never hot and humid

And it's never cold and dry,

Half an hour from sea level,

I have climbed a mile high

You can laugh at our volcano,

But we have no hurricanes

And no lightening in mid-August

In fact, we've no summer rains

I remember walking barefoot

In the city by the Sound

Eating Thai curry or gyros

By the best fountain around

I can well recall the market

With the downstairs ice cream shop

And that great iconic needle

With the restaurant on top

I remember riding ferries

With the wind right in my face

Eating salmon by the seaside

After a cross country race

You can have your famous cheesesteak

Or your fabulous cream pies

But go west three thousand miles

For a real paradise

Wish

I found this in my folder of poems. It's a bit odd that I would have written this, because I'm not very cynical and don't tend to dwell, but so goes it. I'll write a new poem soon.

Wish

It's funny now how tall I was before you came along

How straight I stood, how well I fit my smile

It's funny since I haven't had good posture for so long

And you won't see me laughing for a while

I never used to wish because I always had a plan

And my well-founded whimsy knew her place

My heart was always dreaming and I whistled as I ran

But all the same I understood the race

And here you came to teach me how to dance and how to sing

Skills that I must have known since infancy

But you, you were so confident you'd change my everything

And me, I was too thrilled to disagree

At each eleven eleven you'd instruct me to wish

So twice a day I'd wish only for you

And now that you are far away and all has gone amiss,

I've learned only that wishes don't come true

What a cynic I've become as days have turned to years

How madly and impossibly alone

How paranoid you've made me as my doubts turned into fears

And I have learned to mistrust the unknown

It's funny now how great I was before you came along

How talented and smart I must have been

It's funny since I haven't felt courageous for so long

But I can find a place to start again

Pray for Rain

Happy Lent! This seemed appropriate. I think my inner Seattleite is beginning to kick in.

Pray for Rain
Pray for danger
Pray for danger that you may see right through it
See that danger is a coward
And fear a liar
That you may be thrown into the waves
And take up swimming, accidentally
And that next time you find yourself a cliff
You'll jump

Pray for rejection
Pray to learn ASAP
That you are stronger than judgment
And worth more than condescension
That a "no" is not in vain
So you will continue
And laugh to look back on what you have missed

Pray for dissention
Pray for someone who will argue all you say
That you will be called ignorant and wrong
And see what else there is to be believed
That you will be forced to be
More tolerant, more intelligent, more creative
Than you have ever been

And when you hit rock bottom,
Pray for rain
Pray for any kind of rain
And go out in a t-shirt and your bare feet and lie down
In the grass
And let the million drops of mud
Splatter all across your legs
And the feel serenity pelt down upon your cheeks
Not even imagining
What you could have done
With the time you spent so well
In the rain

Hue

Marmot fur
Icicle
Ivory and cream, which aren't quite the same
Like flour and sugar
And snow
Swiss cheese
Ashes
Pearl
Asbestos
Polar bear
Chalk
Weddings
Serenity
Emptiness

Persian rose
That salmon-coral color
Hot magenta, not to be confused with fuchsia
Watermelon strawberry raspberry
Blueberry juice
Flamingo, fandango
Sunburn
First kiss

Bright cranberry
Firetruck
Marinara
Stop!
Autumn apple
Cinnamon
Virginia clay
Anger
Communism
Surgery

Tangerine
Papaya smoothie
Hot wheels
Campfire
Wildflower
Halloween
Safety
Prison
Energy
Irritation
Bungee jumping

Daffodil
School bus
Corn on the cob
Fields of gold
Mid July
Saffron and sand
Southern Spain
Caution
Adrenaline

Mint mojito
Kiwi
Amazon
Peridot
Seaweed
Sprite
Go
Camoflauge
Lawnmower
Washington
Environmentalism
Poison
Energy
Envy

Cerulean
Turquoise
Aquamarine
Qīng
Spearmint
Caribbean

Mediterranean
Denim
Thunderstorm
Veins
Bubble gum soda
Baby's breath
Heartbreak

Deep maroon
Lavender
Amethyst
Snail blood
Artificial grape
Wealth
Adolescence
Coals
Onyx
Panther fur
Asphault
Rebellion
Apathy

Necklace

Yeah, that necklace

With the deep, deep blue ceramic bead

"To represent the canal, or the sky, or the morning mist over the mountains

Or maybe your favorite camp toothbrush"

Well, my toothbrush is green.

The necklace from the camp on the canal

With the oyster beach and the barnacle rocks

Where the fairies dance and the otters sing

And the old man's beard grows so, so long

That all the birds make nests of it

That necklace

For the timid five year old who was too brave not to climb a mountain

For the eight year old who came twice in the same summer

For the eleven year old who thought maybe she was getting too busy

Too busy for courage

For adventure

For laughter

"But I'll come back," she promised

"Someday."

For the eighteen year old who did come back

And when they asked her "Do you remember?"

Was too shy to admit it

But who could forget?

That necklace

Some people keep theirs in boxes in the corners of their rooms so they won't ever lose them

B. wears hers whenever she's especially nostalgic

S. keeps hers on a hook by the door

So that when the house catches fire, the necklace will stay with her

I don't take mine off.

But ohhh dear, that necklace

Drops of another world

Of plastic, or ceramic, or marmot fur

Or maybe just magic

Marmot fur is for garlic pita and copper mines and snow

The light blue is for finding constellations in the sea

A pink for jellyfish

More blue for warm August days

Lavender for sheep jokes and dinosaur trees

Green for building a fire

Yellow one for bug bites

Sapphire for singing to seals

White for making dream catchers and tye dye

Magenta for singing about moose and alligators and Tuesdays

Another magenta, for fairy houses and friendly trolls

More magenta, for salal and trilliums

And white, white for scraping pots and clearing trails

For dehydrated marinara and egg salad pitas

For pocket rockets and bilge pumps

For wild woozies and spider webs

For mountain goats and polar bears

For counting the bees and chasing the clouds

For giants and sparrows and butterfly breaths

For starfish and cedars and banana slugs

For heroes and villains and pirate hunts

For alpine meadows and barnacle bays

For windsurfing

For discipline

For fairy dust

So I don't keep a camera, just a notebook and some thoughts

And soon enough the thoughts will run away

But even though the notes are smeared and wearing through in spots

I know for certain that necklace will stay

She Speaks Urdu

This poem hit me in the face as I was walking back from lunch and then it had to be written.

She Speaks Urdu

She speaks Urdu

She is French down to her core

But she speaks Urdu

To make her smile a little more

Because it takes her far away

And she speaks it because it's odd

And just a little bit absurd

And maybe energizing and maybe serene

Hoping to let go

Of all she's clenching with her hands and with her heart

Hoping to let go of  everything she has

Within her heart

Have you seen her?

Have you seen her on her toes

Dancing ballet

It's a game she has to play

Even she knows

It will break her bones and leave her feet with scars

But if she gives up

Someday she may forget how to stand up straight

And lord knows

What will happen if she cannot stand up straight

She loves fashion

And on days when she's upset

She gets dressed up

On her worst days you can bet

Her eye shadow

Will be every shade of blue

But it's never overdone

And days when she most wants to run

To the wilderness and hide away and

Play with the chipmunks all day

Or steal away to Rome

She wears high heeled boots to keep her walking home

And her paintings

Oh but you would not believe

How she paints them

Splashing lilac on her sleeve

Dripping fuchsia

On her finished hardwood floor

And the skirt she bought last week

Has a long sapphire streak

So you'd think she'd be a mess

And that's what she will confess

But her paintings look so neat

And she says they're incomplete

Just the way she thinks she is but

She is not, no, she is not!

At all

The way she thinks she is

She knows better

Somewhere far beyond this trance

She is better

Past the fashion and the dance

She is stronger

And she doesn't need to act as if she needs to act at all

Because even when she lets go of her posture and her make up and

Her boots and even Urdu

Because even when you cartwheel off the balance beam you're living on

The people will applaud you and the ground is not so far

And you can live

And you can live

Without forgetting who you are

Sarah Kay

I know, I should write my own poetry, and I'm sorry if for some crazy reason you don't like Ted talks, and once I pass finals I'll have a whole month of free time to write about New England snows and third world development and lead climbing and Arabic, but I'm busybusybusy right now so this is pretty fantastic and if you like poetry, which I assume you do, it'll be worth your time.

That's all

Spain

The smell of tobacco brings me back to you
And overripe pears and plantains
It seems that in all of the big things I do
A memory of you remains

The dining hall says they serve gazpacho soup
But I know they don't have it right
And our nicest beaches will never compare
With Paseo Marítimo any old night

Inland, there are no chiringuitos,
I never see palm trees out here
And never in all of my travels
Has Africa felt quite so near

Or what of your castles, España?
Where now can I see your fútbol?
I'd like to revisit Casares
And rewatch the sun set on a late summer stroll

So my plans are sprinkled with saffron
I long for your imported sand
With Bécquer tattooed on my esperanzas,
I send my besos to your land

Good Day for a Cry

It's such a good day for a cry

For rinsing my heart below the bawling sky

What wonderful weather for fear,

For finding companions for each lonesome tear

And this is no poetic rain

No sweet summer misting or great flash of pain

No thunder and lightening or roses and dew

But if you know sorrow, this rain is for you

It's such a great day to feel bad

To go break her heart and then watch her get mad

What perfect setting for a fight,

To watch all of his pent up anger ignite

Imagine this weather with shame,

With "I didn't start it!" and passing the blame

And if I were to walk away

I'd certainly do it some day like today.

But what awful weather for joy!

For "here, give a couple bucks to the poor boy"

It's such a good day for a cry

But I pray that soon we'll find a clearer sky

Not a poem

This shouldn't be a poem and it doesn't have a title, but I don't use the prose blog anymore and it needed to be said.

I'm not sure how to tell you
I don't mind.
I don't know how to say
"Please shut up and like yourself."

Those pants do not make you look fat
That grade does not constitute failure
That school has a 7% acceptance rate
He wasn't trying to be rude
No, I don't hate you
Yes, I know you are not fishing for compliments
You are legitimately this insecure.

It doesn't bother me that you didn't go to the gym
Neither did I.
You do not need to make me feel good about myself.
I can do that for myself
Just because I'm quiet doesn't make me insecure
Usually, it's the loud ones.

I am not judging you for
That tattoo
The boy you dated in tenth grade
Your accent
The size of your waist
How you act around your parents
Your thriftstore jeans
The way you sing
Who you slept with last night
How you treated me that one day
I am not judging you
You need to stop judging yourself

Good heavens, don't apologize to me
I don't need your apology and you don't need my forgiveness
I don't need your insecurity
Neither do you.

Please stand up straight when you approach me
Don't mope. I can't stand dogs.
I don't care if you've needed to tell me this for a long time
Stop stop stop.
I wasn't judging you until you showed me you're afraid of being judged.

I'm not sure how to tell you
I don't mind.
I don't know how to say
"Stop whining and just be loved."

Riverside

It's been so long since I wrote!
Don't worry, I'm fixing that. I'm a little busy though.
I love New England.

Riverside
I've found a spot beside the river where the sparrows sing
From my perch on a sitting rock, I can feel everything
A muddy baby brook runs down the hill, hoping to drain
And every so often the trees let go of last night's rain

A birch tree lays upon the path, still ridged with beaver teeth
And I lift up a branch to find a rabbit underneath!
Bright leaves drift down the river but it's clear they're in no rush
And one small jay discreetly steals from a blueberry bush

It's here the autumn leaves release their grip without a sound
Most people don't stay long in that mosquito breeding ground
I chance to see two squirrels pass, preparing for the snow
It'll be a couple months but surely this they know

Trees lean over the river, whispering to the other side
For these days even they aren't sure in whom they can confide
The still water and humid air create an evening mist
What more should I require from life when I can have all this?