It’s not snowing, but it might as well be, 

it’s just as cold.

It’s not snowing, but it might as well be,

the wind still blows.

Sharp and spinning and slaming and bright.

Fast and forceful and fighting and high

Higher, and higher, and higher, you’ll soar

And when you land, you’ll hit the ground 

Much harder than before. 

It’s not snowing, but it might as well be,

it’s just as cold.

It’s not snowing, but it is,

If you live in the globe

Shaken by uncareful hands of a child.

Rambunctious, chaotic, and crazy, and wild. 

But you can not blame him; he does not know what he’s done. 

For all children are, are daughters and sons.

When parents don’t teach their little hands not to shake

It’s easy to find pieces of glass start to break.

And as the cold that seeps out onto your skin starts to freeze. 

It’s not snowing right now, but it might as well be.

I meant to close the door before I went to bed, 

I promise, I really did.

I went up with that key, rusted red from disuse, but

I just couldn’t get it to fit.

I meant to close the door before I went to sleep

I promise, I really tried. 

But I fell down the stairs and got distracted, I did.

Slipped on the liquid that streamed from my eyes.

I meant to close the door, shut the drapes, dim the lights

I promised myself I’d do it.

Leaving the door open wastes energy and time,

and you’ll never want whatever walks through it.

I meant to do it all, I meant to, I swear,

but I wake up, and the door is still open.

I’ll close it tomorrow, I promise myself

Tomorrow I’ll go down and close it.

I am a candle, melting in the night. 

I can see you from the top of your dresser,

your back hunched and eyes flaccid with the hour.

I can see the glow on your face as you work.

And I can see my own glow dimming as I fade away,

And you forget I am here.

But my scent travels up into the air,

and even when I can’t see you anymore, and I am long gone.

It is enough to know that by my dying, I  

brought you so much joy

I am the bird that nests outside your window.

A cardinal, you think, 

Though cardinals are smaller than I am

and much more red. 

This, however, will not stop you from thinking of home when you see me,

from holding your dead grandma’s quilt a little closer and wondering

If she sent me down to you.

She didn’t, and I’m not.

But I’m glad the thought that I was something else, 

brought you so much joy.

I am the last page in a book assigned to you.

The only one you ever read in full, and even then,

It was out of obligation.

I heard you tell your friends that my story “wasn’t for you,”

That I was disappointing, that the message was good,

But the execution was sloppy.

And I thought this last one was funny, because you said it while 

copy-and-pasting an a.i. essay into your assignment, 

and still managing to use the wrong ‘your’ every single time.

But still, I’m glad that finally being done with me

brought you so much joy.

I am the mirror that hangs in your bathroom.

And no matter where you look from, 

Or how much you plead,

I will not change for you.

I can not lie to you. 

And you hate me for the things I reflect.

And so now I sit in the back of your linen closet,

And there is a spot on the wall where the paint looks lighter

because I am not there. 

And I am so sorry that I have not

brought you so much joy.

I am the camera in your phone.

And you are scared of the things I might show you,

and you already hate me for the things I might see.

So you cover my eyes with tape and cloth so that 

you can not be reminded of who you are.

But I am better than your bathroom mirror, 

and I will change, 

and I will filter, 

And I will lie

And I wont be angry when you replace me with the newer model.

I will do all of this if it means I can die knowing that

I brought you so much joy.

By the third time, you’re forced to move on, 

There are things you start to get used to. 

The thickness in the air 

When you breathe. 

Like that moment in military camps 

When they send chemicals into locked rooms 

To see how long you can 

Stay standing.

The world keeps spinning outside your door

But your feet stay planted

Like stop signs

Drilled into the ground 

And set with white stone powder and dirty water.

You breathe it in

And you start to remember the first time you felt it 

Crying on cold tile floors 

While trained eyes watched

In judgement 

Masked as concern.

And you’ve stopped again.

And everything is better this way.

You’ve stopped wanting

Because want leads to hope

And hope only ever leads to disappointment.

You’ve stopped caring

Because hate takes too much energy 

And love, too much sacrifice.

You’ve stopped looking  

Because it’s easier to ignore than to acknowledge.

You’ve stopped asking

Because that’s the only way they can’t tell you no

You stop eating 

Because it won’t stay down anyway.

You stopped sleeping 

Because you can’t stay down either, 

But you can’t quite stand

Unless someone pulls you to your feet.

But the door is still locked, 

And you are still alone.

You stop breathing.

Because whatever was in the air 

Was too much too fast

And gone too soon.

And right when you got used 

To the feeling of it being there

It disappeared.

And right when you got used

To the feeling of not having it

It came back.

And then there is this light.

But not the kind of light that ends a tunnel,

No.

The kind of light that 

Blinds you when you come back to life

In white-roomed hospitals,

With vents in the ceiling

That makes you wonder when the

Poisoned air will come back.

So you’ll go back to your normal life,

Until they start to tell you you’re ready 

And you get sick of hearing

“It’s time to rip off the bandaid.”

Because you know the wound underneath 

Is not fully healed.

And then you’re in that room again.

You breathe in those chemicals, 

And blink away the sting,

And you’re surprised for the first time in your life

In the absence of tears.

So you start to think, 

Just maybe, you’ve finally built up an immunity.

But then your vision gets fuzzy,

And your heart starts to flutter,

And one thing becomes clear;

That this will be your deathbed. 

But the concrete at your feet is fully sealed.

And you,

You have missed your only chance to walk away.

It’s not every day one gets to see a spectacle like this

Two ballerinas in the sky, such graceful unconscious elegance 

Their movements slow and circular. Swaying in the breeze, a rustle of leaves

The fluidity of their stillness entrances me, and I fear 

I’ve fallen into their abyss. 

I heard their song before they went. 

Their crimson clothes and bodies bent

Ringing still their gargled tune choked off with broken necks. Their moans and groans are now only encapsulated by the trees they swing from

Back and forth back and forth

A silent hypnotist’s clock beckoning me forth so that I can only stare in bewildered astonishment and wonder

What it all meant

Countless days I’ve lost since their deaths

Forever remembering the last hushed breaths

Young souls with futures bright, forced upon them, a world unfair, a society that didn’t care and 

I was unaware of how to solve their problem because I was too blind to see that there was a problem.

Now all I see is their empty faces, their bodies stuck in their eternal, deadly dance

And I am stuck too

So I sink into the same inky depths

And now I’ve joined them in the stars 

Hoping the third has better luck than ours

Hoping for many years to come. Alive he stayed but he took the blame for

Accusations left unproven and while he’s not dancing with us yet I fret

A bitter life is all that awaits because nothing will ever change or replace 

The innocence that was stolen that day

A crime committed, ignored unrepaid

And yet he’s the one behind bars

You call yourselves a united nation 

But still ignore the demonstrations

Given by failing generations

with the proper documentation

Truly ignored the observations 

You’ve failed all my expectations 

And still expect congratulations

For work, you haven’t done

And I don’t mean things haven’t changed

I just mean it’s not enough to say 

That Meeropool’s fruit is no longer strange

And honestly, it makes me quite enraged

To think anyone ever “deserved to be hanged.”

The whole idea is quite deranged 

Their sacrifices only asked one thing

That I belong to everyone

Happy endings aren’t as easy to come by as fairy tales make them seem.

That is the goal, right?

A happy ending?

That’s what everyone says anyway

But they never tell you how to get there.

It’s a destination without directions.

Expectations without explanations.

This isn’t supposed to rhyme 

But I guess it fits.

It’s odd

How poetry can still have so many rules and guidelines.

Isn’t it supposed to be as

Free and open and bright

As a field of white

In the summertime?

That’s not the best analogy, I guess. 

For so many a field was 

No more open than a jail cell

No more free than a life sentence 

No more bright than blood, and bruised, and broken bones

A sight that they have grown accustomed to.

Were their endings happy?

Or were they just commas?

On a list of never-ending names. 

That’s the other thing about endings.

How do I know if it’s really the end

Or just a break?

How do I know if I’ve finished the race 

Or only slowed down 

To catch my breath?

How do I know if it’s the last page

Or just the last chapter

In the first book of a series? 

Happiness is the eye of the needle

The center of the storm

A moment where you are dry and warm

And you think maybe this is the light that they were talking about.

But just as soon as it came, it’s gone again.

Even after the rain is over, there is still the flood afterwards.

That’s the thing about happiness

Is in order for it to exist

You have to be sad before

And you have to be sad again after

And you have to wait

In the dark

And the wet

Until it comes back to dry you off

And you’ll wade your way through every storm

Until you reach the other side.

No, happy endings aren’t easy

And you’ll never know if you’re happy enough for it to be an ending.

And you’ll never know it, you already had yours

And you’ll never be as happy as you once were.

And so you’ll fade away.

And you’ll forget.

But even then, is it enough?

Are you happy enough?

Happy enough for this to be your ending

Happy enough to stop pretending

That you were ever 

Happy enough.