Velcro. Stained Glass. Blue Lollipops.

Listen—

time is just an unfriendly obligation,
but moments are a world in which
money isn’t real.

She’s never gone,
but sometimes you’ll misplace
her amongst all the noise—
you’ll wear new glasses, and the world
will feel like a boy’s unwelcome grip,
but you’ll learn
to throw a punch
without breaking your
fingers eventually.

You’ll watch snow drift
into the banks and swear
you’re falling, too—you’ll think opal
is a hoax and spit out mouth-fulls
of fluorescence trying to be the sun,
loose language off of loose lips,
and it’ll feel like burning.

They’ll ask for a martyr,
and all you’ll have to give
is your heart, tangled knots of ivy
on the brownstones, and you’ll question
if there is any place in the weeping
willow tree for nobody’s daughter,
a yard-sale board game.

And you’ll wonder
about elephants,
why nobody else
seems to see them.
How, despite your hunger,
The elephants always appear well-fed.

But your humanity
is an obvious secret
(you can choose not to keep it).

Shaking Hands. Super Heroes. Scissor-cut Hearts.

Time is a picture-thief,
stealing sunsets and red converse shoes
that only fit these feet, no matter how hard you try
to stretch them out—