A poem for everyone who’s moving away

it’s incredible to think

that in a few months

my reality will be forever altered

I’ll step off the plane

into a new existence

new streets I’ll walk

that will grow more familiar with each stride.

The strangers that may become friends

or even family

the bed where I’ll sleep

peppered with clothes and books and leotards

the worn out trails between home and school and train

the routine I’ll quickly fall into

and the world I’ll build around me

while the world I live in now

will fade into distant memory.

And everything I once looked at with awe

will become common and ordinary.

Until I return to my home town

and everything looks smaller

and far more beautiful

than when I walked these streets every day

my paths and routines so deeply engraved

but I am a part of a different world

A poem about hot yoga

Tree pose is my favorite

in the midst of heat and sweat

after falling or feeling faint

of slipping and searching for an end in sight.

I will always get up for tree pose

balanced on one leg is the only way I’m stable

through shaking and doubt

I will always balance

my roots are strong in the ground

even though I sway.

Some days in hot yoga

I am strong like a goddess

I breathe and move correctly

sweating like a champion

feeling like the yoga princesses of Instagram

like the woman who goes every day

in her matching lululemon

looking like a young woman

but only up close do you see less of her youth.

Some days I am faint

and my body doesn’t listen,

even when I can’t tell what’s wrong

and I lie on my mat defeated

in a puddle of my miserable sweat

but I still stand up for tree pose

A little graduation poem

Tomorrow I graduate.

and as I walk that stage I will leave behind a piece of me.

a feeling of leaving summer camp

of hugging all my friends goodbye

and crying in the car thinking of all the beautiful times left behind me

but I’ll be glad to be back in my bed.

I’ve had a lifetime of goodbyes

of coming and going and never staying for too long.

But too long was not too long for the years I spent here

For the city that engulfed me with open arms,

for the friends that became the threads for a tapestry of life

for the one person who was the whole image

and every corner of my world.

You never realize how beautiful things are

until they’re behind you

and you look back through the rear window

of the car packed with everything you own,

and your heart is hurting with a dull ache

for the life you built.

For the happy moments, the tragic ones,

the monumental obstacles that are now miniscule from the distance.

A complicated picture

made up of millions of pixels

while your hands itch to build

a new one before you

square by square.

as I walk the stage tomorrow

I won’t tell anyone how I feel,

I’ll think of the things I could’ve done

the people I could have befriended

It’ll be cliche and sad and exciting

like how much my heart will ache

as I walk the runway onto the plane

in 3 months time

and watch my beautiful city recede

from a world

to toy buildings

to bright lights

to a single speck on a large Earth.

A new world that is waiting for me to create it.

Growing up is so very painful

rearranging bones and stretching out skin,

discovering yourself and deciding if you like who that is.

I may cry for the things I leave behind

but I am happy for what is ahead of me.

My life will be nothing but beautiful

if i make it so

because as much as it hurts to grow

it hurts even more to stay the same.

More Tiny Notebook Art + Tiny Notebook Poetry

Life is pretty crazy right now, I have to say. I’m on the cusp of graduating high school, working 3 jobs to pay for college, and still trying to maintain semi-normal sleep patterns?? Keyword trying. Anyways, with all this craziness it’s really hard to find time to do the things I love: sing, make art, write, dance, relax. This is where the tiny notebook comes in, yet again. Like I talked about in my last post, the tiny notebook is a way for me to get through the monotonous boredom of working in a call center, but now it’s purpose has grown even further. I’ve started even writing poetry while working, which is great because it’s something I don’t often find time for but is something I love to do. My poems are pretty mundane, but they’re personal to me. It’s a way to reflect on the day and capture it in my memory. Poetry to me is like a journal, and finding a way to incorporate it into my daily life is a great way to make myself actually do it. If I’m not doing creative things regularly, my soul feels starved and I feel like half a person. But that’s just who I am and what I enjoy. Everyone has their own different thing that is food for their soul, whether it be going out into nature, a certain activity, exercise. It’s painful to not have these things we love in our lives, especially because of timing. This is why I’m encouraging all of you to have your own tiny notebook version of the activities you love, and make them a priority. Think of little ways to incorporate it into your life, even if you have to shift things around or discover a creative way to find time to do it.

I’m his dandelion princess,                                             the color of the sun,                                                          my stained hands are tiny                                              but he has me under his thumb                                          the world is smiling sweetly                                                in the breeze, flowers and bones                                       in the sandy afternoons and midnight walks home        bitter vodka and fresh mango                                             my yellow, orange, green                                                     summer hammocks and a handle                                       blue smoke through a screen                                               we love being young and dirty                                             licking salt off each other’s necks                                       days are turning sweetly slowly                                         and summer could never end.                                             but our hearts are cracking slightly                                     with the clock ticking away                                                 waiting for fall to frost the flowers                                     “young love” the homeless man said
my brother said the only way to make it is to let your demons take you                                            to love your craft with every part of yourself and let yourself bleed and die for it.                  To sing until your voice is crafted into liquid gold,                                                                        and your back and hips buckle from the fury on your body                                                        even if the things you demand are too much you love the taste of blood in your mouth.       To leave your heart on the stage and wear it outside of yourself                                          outstretched to the world to be kicked and spit on or worshipped.                                             Being an artist is back-breaking labor                 a whole life’s work and an everyday challenge to be better, more brilliant, more talented      and to be sure you deserve it.                         don’t say it’s not the most noble thing to do     the most difficult and necessary work in the world.                                                                    thank the artist in your life                                for being who they are

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