My Personal Favorites

If people begin to tell me I am not enough

that I am not worthy of life’s fruit

and I no longer have a place to call home

the earth will take care of me

It will take care of me

like how the ocean loves the sand

the endless reach and retreat of the water

seemingly superfluous

but I don’t imagine the sand could ever tire of it

it will wash me clean of my sins

I will find a field of thick grass

and lean into the soft tickle

it does not need to know why I am there

and yet it will still cradle me softly

a cushion between the soil and its grounding tendencies

There will always be trees for me to lean on

skytouchers, light pursuers, life providers

I will learn to grow roots where I am planted

I must reach for even the things I cannot yet see

The sun will be bright even when I cannot be

it will shine on me regardless

and paint a romance on the sky where it kisses the earth

as if to remind me that I, too, am lovely and warm

If the world’s love turns to that of a rock

I will allow my heart to blossom around it

I will rejoice in the very things I am not supposed to

fruit punch pouches left on the platform

and moss making a home for itself in the wood grain

hands reaching for rust-plagued metal bars

and swinging feet avoiding the six clanging chains,

but mom calls me in for dinner

I have to go, I’ll be back out when I’m done.

You promise?

If my parents let me.

See you later . . .

sometimes the grass catches me gently

but other times, not so gently

all I know know to do is cry

because scraped knees and bruises 

are my biggest pains

and having to go inside

is what makes me sad

with green knees and a growling tummy

I said goodbye

Hello?

hours later I walk back outside to

the canvas roof all torn up

like my knees used to be

to bug filled binoculars,

and no one

tugging at the ropes pulling themselves up

no more love out there

wearing down the wooden stairs

all I know how to do now

is take myself to the places I loved as a kid

where I could still breath and play,

free

from the scary things and the big feelings

I seem to have lost what happened

between coming in for dinner and growing up

there are still dirt patches under the swings

from when we used to drag our feet

dancing boy drops to the floor, bounces back up

life radiating from somewhere inside him

maybe from his too big red tie

straight from the 2000’s

or the fact that he is here

in this room, enveloped in its energy

there’s something about this song

and this colorful place

awake and excited

that frees me

dancing boy

looking into my soul, asks me

Did they send me daughters,

when I asked for sons?

in case I needed a reminder

that I am strong, like a raging fire

dancing boy points at me

in my white suit jacket and bowtie

Mister, I’ll make a man out of you

inviting me into the light

and its warmth

dancing boy

he’s looking into my soul, telling me

Somehow I’ll make a man out of you

just in case I needed a reminder

that I am tranquil as a forest,

but on fire within

jubilance holds us

tastes sweet like honey

it sticks us to each other

and there’s something about this song

and this colorful place

awake and excited

that frees me

Dear Nex Benedict,

I’m sorry that the world was not kind to you

that it was screaming at you

and nagging at your clothes

and picking you apart, piece by piece

and then

blink

you left

and your beautiful, wonderful noise followed

how can the world keep moving when yours has stopped?

and there is no more beautiful, wonderful noise

I’m sorry that the world isn’t ready to listen to us

I’m sorry that it threw you out

like a sketch, full of mistakes

I know you liked to draw

you should still be here

doodling instead of doing your homework

the world should have been listening

to your joyous song

and your radiant laughter

but it is hungry for fear

it is eager to find people to blame for its faults

and it swallowed you whole, unforgivingly

your cats will miss you

and wonder where you went

their mournful meows echoing in my mind

the world was not ready

for your beautiful, wonderful noise

but I was

and I will miss you too

Rest in Power,

A non-binary high school kid

Home

is within me,

but I wish to burn it

so that hurt no longer

has a place to rest

joy is when flowers bloom

in soil that's grown too many other things

other people’s beliefs

their big feelings and their fears

of a love they've never known

and to grow a garden, even in dry soil

is to believe in tomorrow

it is to believe that good things will fruit

but know that it will take time and care

to taste their sweetness

to be here is to plant the seeds

of the garden that will become tomorrow

it is to believe that good things will fruit

but know that it will take time and care

to taste their sweetness

there is joy in passing on these seeds

sharing slices of this fruit

with those who wish to partake

in this world, blooming and bright

there is joy in growing old

and watching young children flourish

showing them how to root, passionately

how to stand in the sun’s light

I’ll tug on this light so it radiates

on the living witnesses of our past failures

those who have been given the most

malnourished soil in which to root

for an ecosystem cannot flourish

without its most vulnerable

sterilize the groceries 

before they come in the house

and the air

before anyone breathes it in

and my feelings too, just in case

numbers wobbling on the tv,

indecisive and unsure of themselves

just a flicker, up, up quicker

up, up sicker

“don’t hold your breath”

but the whole thing was

one sudden gasp and then 

three years of mouth closed

mask on, more distance

oh to be a child again

in a world not dying, not lying

to grow, uninterrupted

into the flesh and fear

of a seventeen year old

without six feet

bound to the front of my shoes

without six feet of space

between me and myself

poke me with your cold fingers

then with needles

one, two, three

sedate me with meds

so it doesn't hurt anymore

and force feed me emotions

that taste ugly

sad and salty

I'll throw them up later

when you're not looking

don't tell me why

or even listen

when I tell you I'm broken

just let me cry

and taste the sad, salty drips

that run down my face

the only nice thing,

the lady with pearly, white hair

who asked me why I was there

and told me that it would be ok

You've always been here.

Whenever I needed you most.

Even if you're "gone" to others.

It doesn't mean you aren't still here.

It doesn't mean that I'm not sad.

It doesn't mean that I don't miss you.

It doesn't mean that I don't love you.

With all of my heart.

And I never lost you.

Because I know I don't have to feel bad.

And I know I don't have to blame myself.

But as your closest friend.

I'm still sad.

I still miss you.

And I still love you.

With all of my heart.

Just as much as I did the last time I saw you.

We were together.

Laughing.

Smiling.

Talking.

For the last time.

Sitting in the creaky hospital bed.

With all those tubes and wires around us.

And the oxygen mask over your face.

Because they couldn't figure out what was wrong.

Eating the gooey hospital cinnamon rolls.

That you loved.

You ate them every day you spent there.

You were telling me how far away the end was.

Even though I knew it was coming.

Knowing that visiting hours were almost over.

Begging to the staff to let me stay the night.

Because I knew you weren't going to make it this time.

Crying so hard.

Because I had to leave you alone.

With all those tubes and wires around you.

And the oxygen mask over your face.

Because they couldn't figure out what was wrong.

I cried so hard that night.

For the first time.

Because I thought that losing you meant losing me.

And as your closest friend.

I still haven't lost you.

Nor have I lost myself.

And I'm sitting by your grave.

Laughing.

Smiling.

Talking.

With your ghost.

For the hundredth time.

About the plans we made.

To see the world together.

Eating the gooey cinnamon rolls.

That you loved.

In memory of you.

And all the times we ate them together.

Forgetting that night at the hospital.

And all the sad days we spent there together.

And how I cried for the last time.

Because I promised myself something.

I promised myself that I wouldn't lose myself to the pain.

Because you've always been here.

But that doesn't mean I'm not sad.

It doesn't mean I don't miss you.

It doesn't mean I don't still love you.

With all of my heart.

Just as much as the first time I saw you.

When you sat with me at lunch.

On the third day of school.

Because I was sitting alone.

Even though your friends told you not to.