when I was eight years old,
i wanted to be a photographer
i took my daddy's camera and
i took pictures of my world
i took pictures of my
beautiful best friend
climbing her large tree
i took photos of my baby brother,
his eyes closed while he held my thumb
i took photos of the snow
that froze over the grass
when I was thirteen years old, I wanted to be a writer
i wrote about my childhood best friend her obsession with country music
i wrote about my love
for my baby brother
I wrote about the calmness
I found in the cold snow
when I was sixteen years old
I wanted to
be dead
i ignored my best friend's
attempts to
help me
my baby brother begged me
to play a quick game
of Mario cart
with him
i stayed inside on winter days
and slept
until summer came
but what I noticed
when I wanted to die
my eyes opened
looking everywhere
and anywhere
to feel alive
i felt alive
writing about aliens
and girls saving the world
i felt alive
making cakes
with my baby brother
i felt alive
climbing a tree
maybe I felt alive
while writing because I was
distracted
maybe I felt alive
taking pictures of my brother
because he was alive
maybe I felt alive
while climbing a tree
because I was closer the sky
when my 16 year old self thought
she belonged
the trees closer to heaven
YOU ARE READING
shoulders | spoken word poetry
PoetryI'm going to distract you, masking the cold truth in beautiful colors and pretty similes. That's what we poets do, we write and we write. We write until we're empty. Here's the thing though, we empty the sadness out and there comes our happiness. I'...
