she writes poems

she writes on the bus

as other kids chatter about

a party that she wasn't invited to

(not that she wanted to go to

their party anyway)

as they scroll through instagram photos

doubletap doubletap doubletap

she turns the clouds outside the window

and the way the

lines on the road blur together

into a song on the page

she writes at school

in a worn notebook

with no lines on the pages

she writes during class

(only during the boring parts)

with her notebook hidden under

the desk in math

her notebook on top of the desk in science

(the teacher never notices)

(would he notice if she wrote her poems

on the desk in highlighter)

she writes about the world

turning observations into something deep

she read somewhere

that a poet could take

the sprawling nature of the world

and with one word

strip it down to its core

(does she do that)

(she thinks

maybe

she does)

and she's trying

she's trying so hard

to fit in

she's been told

that you should be yourself

(she's been shown

that you really shouldn't)

she wants to be normal

but how can she be

when her heart beats a prism

and theirs all beat

black-white black-white black-white

she wishes for

something

(she's not quite sure what)

she wishes on stars

and pennies in the fountain

and dandelions floating away on the breeze

(she can never blow

all the seeds off in one breath

maybe that's why her wishes won't come true)

she writes poems

she writes wishes

she writes clouds and dandelion seeds

(after all

aren't those all the same thing)