366 Poems: DECEMBER 31ST, 2016

New Me, Still Me 


I took a trip outside the reef

to where white seabirds soar,

and took upon an ocean

that I’d sailed some years before.

And the tides pulled a different way

than planned, but I won’t groan

from friends and falls and memories

that made this sea a home.

Now imagine a little girl

looking out with no name.

Imagine a young woman

looking inward just the same.

Imagine they are meeting,

turning onward and before.

Imagine seabirds flying–

calling, searching,






366 Poems: December 15th, 2016

Strong Hearts

All around the world this winter’s day

a hundred thousand hearts come out to play.

In the snow drifts they shiver and they shake,

but above all, these hearts refuse to break.

They may freeze through their boots and drench their clothes,

or skid along the deadly icy roads.

And some may crack, others, refuse to mend,

but for a hundred thousand hearts…

it’s worth it in the end.

“little hearts bokeh stock”

366 Poems: September 21st, 2016

Teenage Trilogy

These days the young adult world is obsessed with trilogies–

three books, no more, no less

often about a girl

who has only one male love interest

(or two, but those have gotten a bit cliché).

Actually, it’s all gotten a bit overdone,

and yet some days I’m convinced

that I’m living in a teenage trilogy–

sophomore year, junior year, senior year,

and all three years

of him.

We’ve had conflicts, resolutions,

preludes and epilogues and fairy tales.

He is a fairy tale.

After 17 months of seeing the same face day after day,

it’s still the most beautiful thing in the world.

It still brings me infinite happiness to think of it.

But what doesn’t bring me happiness

is that forever, in a trilogy,

is usually not more than five pages long.

(If you’re lucky.)

Our forever would be much longer than that,

I hope.

Or maybe that’s it.

Maybe we’re destined to be just three years.

But I don’t want a trilogy.

I want a hundred-book series that keeps going on and on,

with generation of characters after generation.

I want an epic that goes so long

that the critics will say the author has run out of ideas.

But I will not believe them.

I will be clutching my novels deep down in my library,

reading and re-reading,

constantly begging for more of what I love so much.


Because our story is one that doesn’t need an ending.

366 Poems: September 14th, 2016

Penny for My Thoughts

Last night at twelve o’clock I went to bed

and woke this morn with three holes in my head.

And as I walked to school, my feelings fled

out of my pockets, ripped from end to end,

and fell as copper change upon the ground.

But did you, in the forest, hear a sound?


From the first hole are words for family

and all questions of who I want to be.

I joke I am a liar, but it’s true–

all answers I have framed this way for you.

And I love you, but I know it’s a game

and if I lose, will you see me the same?


From the second are words for him alone

stuck in between the young, growing, and grown.

My two futures, you say, can intertwine

but what if love’s not fit for my design?

I’m glad Shakespeare wrote cheesy poems too,

but I doubt I’ll become famous from you.


And from the third the words pour out right here

to faces that I cannot love nor fear.

You don’t know me and you don’t know my mind

but in these words, my skull escapes the grind.

Just keep in mind the pennies as they fall…

and know that you’re the richest of them all.

“A Penny for Your Thoughts”

366 Poems: September 12th, 2016

Love is a Thing With Feathers

Something tickled my lips

as I wished for a kiss

when you said goodbye this afternoon.

Warm feathers on my face

that I could not erase,

and I hoped I could feel you there soon.

Through the terrors and trials

of life’s many miles,

you’ve still filled this journey with bliss.

And it’s days like today,

when love birds fly astray,

that I’m glad I have someone to miss.

366 Poems: September 8th, 2016

Bad Omens

Last night I wrote about a moth in my kitchen

in a fit of perfect creativity,

and as I got ready for bed he came into my room and flitted about.

But before I slept

and had already turned out my lights,

I decided to look at my phone one last time,

and when I did I felt the peculiar sensation

of something landing on my nose.

So I freaked out, and I swatted at it,

and down fell the moth on the bed,

a beautiful creature now living its last moments

that I had just said

was like me.

And as a regular person, one can find that a bit sad.

As a person like me, it’s a bit more than that.

Because I said that the moth and I were fighting for the same beautiful desires,

yet it seems in the fear and carelessness of another person,

one of us fell short of that.

And I don’t want this to be a warning

that life

is too short

for me.