Poem 1: The In-Between

There is a fine line for everything.

A gray, shaded area

invisible, but present.

Nothing is black and white

not in this world

never in this world.

Our society is not a black and white

television.

In fact, it’s not a show or movie or book

at all. 

Maybe close, but never truly accurate.

After all, how can a book, tv show, movie

express the feelings of the sleep-deprived students

of those who face discrimination

the ones who can’t leave their own bed

and the people who are fighting a battle 

with their own mind.

How could it?

Poem 2: All We Want

Sleep is all but a sacrifice

to our time

a thought that breezes

by for everyone.

But here’s the thing,

we need rest.

From the hustling,

buzzing thing

that we call our mind

teens need a break

from the constant 

yelling that carves itself

into our hearts

We’re failures.

Poem 3: All We Want

Our world filled with colored reflections 
of mist and sun

with its somber moon and rattling rain

that drowns out the sounds of parents yelling

with smiles as bright as a glittering comet

from people who are too young

to know the melancholy that our

world will gift us

with tears as loud as a bomb.

No one hearing them besides the 

person choking on them.

What is going on 

With this world?

Where the color of your skin

determines the level of fear you have

when you get pulled over.

You have to wonder, would you feel fear?

Just like George Floyd did

or maybe even Emmit Till?

I’m begging you, what is going on 

with this world?

Because I’ve lost count.

All the reason jumbling together

in my brain

our world

where it is a crime in 63 countries

to be who you are

to love who you love.

A crime.

How is that right?

What would it be like for you

to not be allowed to love the people 

who you choose to love

what would it be like

for you not allowed to be you.

Our world filled with melodies created

by birds

and writings from millions of books.

Ask yourself this,

Is our world really that kind?

Or is it just a cover page,

Revealing its truths with 

each turn of the page.

Poem 4: Someday

t’s a struggle to leave my bed.

Sometimes it’s impossible.

A lion roaring its crude words right in

my mind.

creating a deafening silence to the

outside world.

Dealing with silence

mixed with my own mind

is exhausting.

So why should I get out of my haven?

Sure, there’s the soft plush grass

that tickles my toes

and the sun warming my face.

But what about the rain?

What happens if it’s raining?

When the self-deprecation settles in

as the puddles form on the streets.

What am I supposed to do when 

everything is gloomy?

What is there to hope for

when the sun never seems to want 

to shine on my face?

I hope someday it will.

I hope someday that lion will turn into

a cat

snuggling up against my leg.

Where my bedroom is filled with music

and not lonely silence.

I hope I hope I hope

that the rain will not be somber anymore,

but a place where I can dance.

Poem 5: Wither

 wither like the autumn leaves.

Shrinking and shrinking

until there is nothing left of me.

I know I can die, but that doesn’t

deter the voice in my head.

I step, and then crumble.

I get up, and then fall.

I push myself up with a 

heavy breath 

and my face hits the ground again

and again

and again.

Even when I so desperately

want to wither and decay

like the beautiful leaves

that glisten as the sun sets. 

I get up

Even when I don’t want to.

It’s the only thing I can do,

Even though I know I will fall

again.

But I know that someday

I will not fall

and I will take my second step. 

Poem 6: Hope 

There is a fine line between

everything

and it can get confusing

all we want

is to feel the sun blazing on our feet

buried in the plush sand

but it’s not all that simple

afterall, the sun is not always present.

Sometimes water soaks us to the bone

but the sun will rise from the clouds

brining a shimmer of hope

welling up

inside our chests

there are many things wrong 

with this world,

But there are many, many

beautiful things about it, too. 

Like the flowers that bloom with the help of the

rain and the sun.

Like the burning balls of fire that we call

stars.

Maybe there are days where you lie in bed

with a bolder on top of you

combined with blurry vision

and a hearse throat.

Trust me, I understand.

But that doesn’t mean you won’t move

that foot forward

take that exhale of air

make that decision 

that will get you climbing out of the cocoon

of blankets.

Because with each thump of your heart

comes a melody of hope.