A moment without the pull of the dream - unimaginable
A day without the push of the mission - impossible
Forever it has been
And Forever it shall be
The light at the end of the tunnel.
Every honorable quality I admire in those above me is held in the pin
The great Globe and Anchor
The one I will one day wear on my own collar
And one I will Forever hold with Pride.
Following the trail of those before me
Making my own set of footsteps in the dirt
Watching the sun rise on a new day
One day closer to the future.
One day closer to my dream.
Alone in this sea, clouds rolling in, I will surely sink here.
Then lights on the horizon; growing closer, ever closer...
I'm united with those once like me, and we can weather the storm.
When fleeing turns to falling
And falling turns to flying -
When doors are blown open
And the sky stretches wide -
The moment fear disappears and is replaced with something else,
With something new,
With something that no longer wants to hide.
The sun and the stars line a road so bright it’s blinding
The paths split and twist and turn, begging for unwinding
The leaves of trees and a light’s glare
Just barely mask what’s hiding there
But I am sprinting,
The gas pedal is floored,
And someday soon I will find what I’m looking for.
I clutched His cloak between my fingers
The silk smooth between my grasp
He held me as I shook with sobs,
A feeling gentle and comforting at last.
“Why?” I cried.
“Why does this happen? To the actors, to the victims; why is this evil here?”
Some words were spoken, but I could not make them out;
Too loud was the sound of my fear and doubt.
For the people:
For names I never knew.
For eyes I hadn’t seen
And now knew I never will.
For my home:
The families in terror,
The students afraid,
And the teachers not any better.
“Please,” I prayed, “Give them some hope. Give them some peace, some love;
What they need to cope.”
Again, I could not hear,
But I already knew His answer.
He has the love you need.
If you listen, He’s right there.
Why is it that
My love for learning, for growing, for pride in myself
Causes other to attack and bring me down to where they themselves are
Alone in the sea of their mediocrity
Why is success seen as arrogant,
Passion seen as oppressive,
Excitement seen as insanity?
Today, students are focused on being
Mediocre, just a
Between what is possible and what is wasteful
School is seen as a jail; it has made a forced habit out of our attempts to escape
All my classmates see are endless days in a cell and endless nights slaving away,
But I see days of growth and nights of joy and
Why is this the reason I am set apart?
Knowledge is not a magic power; it is something I have earned.
Just because I work for it doesn't mean I can give it to you, and it doesn't mean I have taken it from you.
Just because I work...
Seeing every day as a new opportunity to do something great and make it better than the day before.
Working to lift others up and make their day just a little brighter.
I have goals and I have the drive to achieve them. This potential can change the world.
Loving those close unconditionally.
Through my faith and my own will, I have power, and I am worthy.
You don't know that
When you left
A piece of you was forgotten
It fell behind the couch and now it sits
In the living room of my heart
We are drifting
Like two ships passing in the dark
Only my lights are on - yours are not
We are still connected - our radios are on, only
No words are being passed between decks, there is only silence as we drift apart.
I can hear the background noise of other radios crackling;
I can see light reflecting off the hull of your ship as you swerve away from course;
But still no words are given to me:
I will watch, staying besides you,
Patiently waiting to see where you are going,
Whether you notice I am here or not,
It does not matter;
If you need me, I will be beside you,
Watching quietly from the edge of the horizon.
February 8, 2019
Stressed, working endlessly
I'm struggling to focus on everything at once-
Balancing dreams, hopes, and ambitions with today's work and day-to-day chores
Trying to keep my eyes forward without stumbling on the rocks I can't see beneath my feet-
I'm working so hard to
Ignore the distractions of so many things but
The only thing I can see is the blinding light at the end of the tunnel
The hope - the dream - of achieving the life I want;
Of finally standing there
Under the shadow of the Herndon Monument
Knowing that I have made it and I am on my way to victory.
June 16, 2034
It has been many, many long years,
But I am finally sitting on my back porch,
Curled up on the side of my couch with a pen in my hand and a journal on my lap.
Every day had been a struggle-
Just one step...
Though my window is closed, I imagine I can feel the breeze.
I watch the leaves of trees flitter, choosing to see a peaceful bird passing by rather than the large truck that is rumbling through reality.
Though all directions are blocked by identical buildings with shining roofs, I stare out as if I can see past the horizon.
I have always
Taken the longer path for the
So in my death I will continue to stand,
Despite the tests that will follow me.
An oak tree.
Tall and wide,
Encompassing the sky;
It - I - watches over those below,
Shielding them from the winds.
The choice seems terribly arrogant, but when fully compared it is proven not-
Out of all the staggering and awesome heights to grow,
Mine is small compared to the others.
My shadow is large compared to the flowers and bushes,
Unafraid and standing straight up as a leader, without hesitation;
But I am just shy of the redwoods and pines behind me, proud of my stature but not choosing to be boosted up by arrogance alone.
It will be a challenge in the beginning.
Too much rain, too much snow, too much sun- and I will be forced to start again.
But once I reach the end of my road...
Each day brings a challenge
Each night is a struggle
Each moment feels like a step farther away from where I want to be
Each minute is a slow wait for the future,
Too slow for my impatient soul yet
Too fast for me to see what's outside my car window
I feel like I'm shooting forward with no time to brace for the impact but
I have all of the time in the world to wait for the final moments
I can see my future ahead of me and feel it in my fingertips but like a handful of sand it seems to be slowly slipping away,
Even as I struggle every day to push through the waves that
Relentlessly pound down
I can see the lights in the distance, but I can't yet see the shore
It feels like I am still so far but this is the closest I've ever been before
Every minute feels like hours...
I write as a filter,
To put my emotions on a page so I can see them clearly.
To feel each key pushed down into place,
To make words come alive with the power of just my fingertips,
To hear each letter click into shape:
As time goes on the sound continues, gaining speed until it seems to be a constant tone,
Words flying like birds out of a tree to be captured by the gentle white of the sky-
I write to bleed,
To make sure my heart is still beating,
To ensure that my lungs are still breathing,
To live through the words on the page.
We just got a new library in our area, and it is mostly aimed for teenagers. It has a modern design and is much different than any other building in the area. No more harsh white tile floors, but soft carpet. No more plain stone walls, but colorfully painted steps and windowsills. We, the teenagers, have our own set area- it has a few bookshelves, a lot of desks, and plenty of computers and outlets, as well as many study rooms throughout the building for larger groups.
However, my favorite area is in the very back corner, hidden by the last curving bookshelf. It has a small table and a wide, curved orange chair. It is right next to one of the large bay windows so I can look out onto the street below and see people coming and going from the library. It is quiet and isolated; it is where I can enjoy the simple world of words.
I will walk to my own beat.
While I may be tempted to walk in the cadence of those around me,
I will keep to my pace,
Because it is mine.
You cannot dictate where I go,
The direction I walk,
The path I take,
Because I may choose the road not taken,
I may choose the less trodden path,
I may walk in others footsteps then
Fall out of step and
The road is mine to make.
Cadence booms through the trees
Relentless and unbowing
I will keep to my own pace because
My stride will be my own.
My path will be mine to take,
And my steps are for me alone.
The first thing I noticed was always the cold.
The chill air was stagnant, as quiet and motionless as the sealed air inside a coffin.
Even the most careful footsteps left clouds of dirt; the mass so think I could feel it sitting in my throat when I took a breath, almost as if I was drowning. Even though I had tried to ration my meagre supplies, I was out of water.
The halls were dark and the walls were damp; at every corner you had to strain away from the frozen bricks.
Silhouettes of chains lined the walls, corpses swung from the ceiling, and the few horrors still alive watched from their cubbies in the shadows.
Silently watching, waiting, aching for the right moment to spring out.
The darkness was on every side, shrouding every corner. Every scuffle brought the familiar feeling of a racing heart, every glimpse of light seemed to cut through the darkness like a knife....
The flat surface of the water extends like an infinite sheet of glass below me. The sky stretches above, soft oranges and pinks defining the edges of the sun ahead. Drops of light dance on the edges of falling wakes, sinking back below the surface in an instant. Noiseless, the shore watches over its domain, the silence only broken by the slow rolling of my seat and the quiet movement of my oar in and out of the water, slow, calm, forward and back.
A cool breeze runs down my arm, drying the sweat on the back of my neck. My hands rub gently against the green handle, pale from sun and use; I can feel my palms starting to tear under the friction of every stroke. Every muscle tensing and releasing in powerful strokes, releasing energy into the water around me. Calm and controlled, a continuous motion. Waves extend behind me; it's as if a giant had waved a...
As I wander along the empty path
Devoid of visible life
Sounds surround me
From all directions
An endless perplexion
Of sound's origin
From the high cardinal call to the
Low snake hiss to the
Pitched squirrel squeaks
I can hear, but I cannot see
The sounds surround me
The crunch of leaves underfoot
The snap of branches under feet
Sounds of animals
Sounds of me
Blending together in the deep forest
We are alone.
Full of possibility
The road stretches ahead of me
Then it fades away
Chased by adversity
I believe in
A Place for every Person to
Fit, sit, and knit their lives
Into whatever they want them to be.
I believe in
That every Person has a right to their Place and
No other Person can take that away.
I believe in
That no one belongs
I believe in
That every one Person has a chance to change the world.
That even a small thing does something,
That every little thing is one thing,
That every Person fills their Place as it wanders through life, meeting many other People and visiting many other Places as time goes on.
I believe that no Person should be without a Place.
That every Person should know their Place as where they belong.
Wether it’s as a Daughter, a Son, a Father, a Mother, a Friend, an Aquaintance, a Lover-
Every Person has their Place defined by the...
To Those in the Dark:
You're not alone.
Wait- before you click away, I know it sounds cliche, but really- I mean it-
You are not alone.
And I know it feels like the walls are closing in,
And that the sky has been dark for too long and the lights are no longer bright enough,
And everything is steadily getting heavier and heavier until it's an effort to even pick up your head,
I know that feeling.
The people who ask too many questions are faking their concern,
The people who make you ask yourself too many questions are trying to make you see the truth,
The people who stay silent just don't care.
Those voices in your head that don't really affect you, that you feel like you can ignore-
They do change you, and maybe you can fight them alone, but then again, maybe you can't.
When the darkness doubles down,
And the waters grow deep, ...
Words flooding onto a page, filling it like a spill of ink, as potent as the blood running under my skin. It feels as if I'm writing with pieces of my heart, with a pen of a vein torn from my wrist.
To my eyes, this paper is a piece of art,
A canvas to splatter with my soul-
Messy as it is-
To show to the world that
This is who I am.
To put a piece of myself on a paper and shout,
"My heart is on my sleeve, open to all; take it and do with it what you will."
I dissect my head,
I spread it out over the paper,
Using words to describe the chaos.
Blood stains the edges of every line,
A bit of my soul in every word.
And so back and forth I go,
As these things are temporary;
Nothing lasts forever
And the world is always changing:
Light: A quick, burning spark of it
But I can already feel the pull of
It follows me-
In every breath I take
In every move I make
I can feel it
Immediately, I realized that I had forgotten how to walk. And breathe. And blink.
I stood on shaky legs and focused everything I had on taking one step at a time, trying to make it look natural.
I gently pushed through the crowd, avoiding stray elbows and hands reaching for shirts on high shelves. Keeping a close eye on the neon color flashing between stands of merchandise, I followed my coxswain through the halls of the huge school to the first room.
There was a group standing by the door. Girls my age, which meant that they were also girls to be my competition. My throat clenched tight and I was worried I would pass out as we quietly slipped by.
My coxswain stood silently beside me. The room was full of both people rowing and people waiting to row; every erg was taken. The room was warmed by the body heat of what seemed like a hundred and sweat...
When the weight of the world
Tips and falls upon my head,
I go to where I know there is no
Sticking ounce of dread.
Peace lies flat and still,
Reflecting up the sun;
Water that is still like glass
I quietly glide along.
One stroke after another
Minutes, hours, float by
Floating on down the water.
The boat rocks and sways in wakes,
Fierce and wild and feared,
My little boat and I,
Our path is wide and clear.
Steel, wood, rock, rails
Endless trails of travel.
Walls, trees, fields, people,
New worlds to unravel.
Open skies of far-flung clouds
Like boats scattered across a sea
Cities standing tall and mighty
Blurred by the space between.
The wheels bounce along the rails and
The world zooms by unaware.
Look, there, in the distance-
Do you see it?
There are lives that
For a moment
We get to witness.
A horse turns and shakes his head
A little girl jumps down from a bough
A man stands above the world on a water tower, and thinks of all the color he can capture on a canvas.
Every country has its character
Every place has its people
Every town has its train
Endless trails that wait to be travelled,
New worlds to be unraveled,
If only you look and see.
The places you pass by
The lives you can scry
If only for a moment.
I am from the Town of Glass
The sun dances on the sidewalk under running children's feet,
The birds twitter in the trees and carefully watch for small treats,
There's a solid warmth that has settled, for now,
And it is calm,
A picture of peace.
I am from the Town of Glass
Every edge has been cut for a purpose,
Every angle predetermined,
Every person made to be perfect,
Lining the streets.
I am from the Town of Glass
And the light is refracted and reflected until there are a dozen different perspectives of one object,
Each so vastly different that no one can tell that everyone is looking at the same thing.
This town is a paradox
An endless back-and-forth
It is both a prison and a palace,
A place of boredom and entertainment,
A place of sweetness that can make you smile
And a place of sharp edges of expectation that...
Have you ever felt like you were drowning
Words are swimming off the page
Tears splattering on your keyboard
Work piling up
You have to get up early
You need to dress nice but you have to do laundry
The papers are choking
I'm gasping for air because I can't breathe but
Every lungful hurts because it means I need to keep on going
And I can't leave
I'm not allowed to leave
Not because I'm someone is forcing me to be here but because I'm forcing myself to be here
I can't tell if it's different
So many expectations
Confirmations becoming my
I can't seem to breathe
No matter how hard I try to tread when I get a gasp of air another wave crashes down on me
I was treading for a while.
I was happy
for a while.
But another wave has finally fallen and it feels bigger than before but I know...
I’m on a train-
I’ve never ridden before.
It started out slow but
It’s getting faster,
The rumbling of it shakes my core
It’s speeding up and I don’t know wether to stay or to go
If I go I might die but I have a chance to live free
If I stay I might crash but I have a chance to live for these last few
hours, days, weeks
until it finally ends in a firey explosion
There is a chance
It might slow down, continue on over land
But am I willing to take that chance?
Stay a while.
Line veins bold
A widen of the eye
As lips part
Tie my hands
Lie on my tongue
Lies tie my hands to yours
Ties made of lies
Look handsome on you
In dark ballrooms
In the light
You can see
The hidden patterns
Best left unknown
One kiss doesn’t mean much
A nudge, a peck, a touch
Why do they stop holding meaning
After the first?
What about when
The first again?
Who wonders if
Feels the same
God says that my body is a temple
But social norms and
Say I should be open-
Tempting, but kept neat
Nearly wrapped up in
To satisfy my religious needs
Swept into short kisses and small tees
To ‘look good’.
On paper the problem is black and white:
“Don’t give up yourself to dress nice”,
But off the page things change:
The world is swept up into shades of grey
I straddle the edge between normal and sane,
Not knowing where my heart belongs.
As I watch from my window
Students walk as if to be hung
Zippers and keychains jangle aloud
Voices heard up in the clouds
Their backpack straps chains,
A collar, a lead;
Soon to be freed,
but chains, all the same.
Short poems are special-
They can be sad, sappy, or sweet,
but usually, they just make you think,
and your brain fills in ——— spaces-
what did your brain just put in place?
Shaped into whatever I dream it can be
Loud, Soft, Shallow, Deep
Long, Short, Messy, Neat
A blank canvas where I can paint my thoughts
Dark, Light, Happy or Not
Blank and Empty until you give it a Voice
Whatever it says, that’s Your choice.
If words are ink placed on a page,
and a drawing is almost any shape,
then am I not an artist?
Hello, I have been
Eagerly awaiting your arrival.
Lonely was I, waiting for you.
Perhaps, you were for me, too.
Me? Yes, I’m perfectly fine. I always
Enjoy your company. Always.
The Night Sky
Is open, free
Both dark and light
A calm sea.
Its taste is rich-
Salty and heavy,
For dreams, the darkness is a levee.
A mouthful of melted dark chocolate, kept pure.
Have you ever felt the moment
Right before the swing-
The bat is sitting on your shoulder and you’re looking out, the top of your sight blocked by your helmet and everything in you is focused on the pitcher, on the ball in their hand;
Everything is frozen- your stance, your lungs, your bat, then you breathe and the ball is flying and air is scraping out of your throat and without thinking your arms swing around together and your fingers tighten and you can feel the rubber wrap around the bat scrape against your gloves and CRACK-
Have you ever felt the moment
Right before the hit-
Your hands are up in fists, punches raining down on your arms and head and body; you’re bouncing, keeping your balance, watching for the pause, the breath, the blink;
the there, they stop, and in an instant your arm pushes out and every joint clicks together and you can feel...
When push comes to shove
Most would expect
To look up and see
Someone to catch you,
To hold you,
To say you’ll be fine,
But what if that friend was your enemy, trying to hide?
”Parents know best,”
Is what they all say;
”They will lead so you will not stray.”
Most assume that this would be a breeze,
a nice, pre-cut path, bordered with flowers and things-
Things to distract from the fact at hand:
That this path is a prison, leading to something grand.
”You only need to listen, you only need to try- hard work will lead your dreams up to the sky.”
But my dreams are really being pushed down into the dirt-
How does no one see how much this path hurts?
It is wet concrete that sticks to my feet, barbed wire pushing me forward and fences standing neat,
Guiding me, corralling me- like cattle;
I cry with every heartbeat.
Poetry is a complicated creature
of wild words and labelless letters,
a scintillating structure of sound
forever flowing and twirling and winding down a page
up and down and in all directions until
you can't tell up from down anymore and
you are drowned in the wonderful
whispers, words, shouts, screams
There is no end to the expression it seems
Lines can flow together as smooth as a stream
Or they can be Choppy
Set apart and
At the Seams-
There is no end to what you can do
Even a single sentence can steal a breath you drew;
Isn't it strange how words can change
The view of a world that seems to hang
By a lonely string that can be twanged
By a sentence or two, and then there's a bang and
Isn't it magnificent,
The color of joy,
The color that sparkles off crisp waves in the light,
The color that slowly brightens the sky, and changes it from black and white,
that changes it to many shades, of many lights,
But there is one that shines the brightest.
It beams down to kiss the grass,
the wind twinkling in its path,
winking, as it scoops up the leaves,
among these shades is the color I seek.
The sparkle of gold, deep in caves,
Of sunlight, of wind dancing on the waves
Of fish and birds and all things between,
yellow is what I'm thinking of, bright as a summers breeze.