The Nature of the Word

The Nature of the Word

A name called,
a cruelty allowed.
Even the bathroom mirrors
are two-faced.
And we’re told to “settle down.”

And where are you
after all that?

They say salt water,
rising in tides,
reshapes and eventually
disintegrates boulders.

It takes centuries,
but eventually, there’s no reminder
of what once stood so boldly,
no echo
for that which never once made sound,
no mourning for what never held breath.

If that stone is struck,
it fissures or breaks,
but it remains;
withstands shipwrecks
and dynamite.

It may be the
forceful attack
that crumbles the spirit, but it is
the constant, recursive nature
that makes it


Fake it ’til You Make it

Fake it ’til You Make it

She looks through my new sweater
And says sickly, “That’s super cute!”
Even though we all know what she really thinks
No one believes as she
Tells the other girls she thinks they’re pretty

And while guidance buys her lies,
We all hear what she says
Feel the sting of the whips she cracks
The way she makes us feel
So she can change and improve
The way she feels on her own

What I want to do is
Shoot meteors out of my hands
And explode her
in a great billowing
mushroom cloud of justice

But we must play nice and all pretend
“fake it ’til you make it”
And when I come home
and my parents ask that question
I’ll give the same answer

I guess
it isn’t only for school.