When I was five, I found

a red string tied around

my pinky.

It looked like a bow

and it flowed from my finger

before stopping

and dangling

into nothingness.

And as I made my way

through my early years,

everyone found someone to tie

their strings together with.

Everyone except me.

But then I was ten

and I found a boy in my class

who didn’t have someone

he was tied together with.

He was there, and then he was gone

and I had three strings coming from

my pinky.

But my red string was still untied.

He came back one day

and it was like he never went away.

We laughed

and we cried

and we fought

and we lied.

We were together for years,

friends through all the obstacles

life threw at us.

I used his shoulder to cry

and his smile to spark joy.

But perhaps I cried too much.

Perhaps I was not enough

for him.

Perhaps the string that held us together…

perhaps it started to stretch too far.

It felt as if I barely realized our

strings had come

together

when he began cutting them apart.

I cried but

he would not listen.

He chopped at our string,

tufts of red

falling to the ground.

And he turned away

with a smile

saying

“We can still be friends

just not as close.”

But how can we still be friends

if you won’t even

look at me?

I have other strings, too,

and I’ve grown closer to them

and I am happy.

But my red string on my pinky,

frayed and worn and faded,

still remains untied

in case he ever decides to

come back.

 

 

Oh come, oh you dastardly creature,
veins bulging black with bastard blood. 

Come, oh come, and approach my frail dove, 

wings clipping with each single step. 

 

Oh dare, oh you grizzled darkness, 

your foot causing cracks in the concrete. 

Dare, oh dare, and claim my soul, 

break my bones and stain my white dress. 

 

Oh steal, oh you evil beast, 

your hand grasping with muscles clenching. 

Steal, oh steal, and break my faith, 

impale my innocence on the wings of Fate.

 

 

Branches on a tree are burdened, 

Raindrops sag the bough,

Evermore do the trees grow.

Always cultivating the neighboring 

Timber to thrive and the sapling to derive.

How precious art the life you give. 

Imagine the forest without you,

No more can that thought linger.

Grounded are your roots to give life.