Camp
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Welcome to lake indifference
Here you will find the vacation home of every man I have ever loved.
Starting with cabin 208
Occupied by all the men I accidentally loved in high school.
Or at least I thought I loved.
twinkling silver moon earrings, my planet fitness membership, three advil tablets, a pink and orange velvet dress (to twirl in), a purple ribbon from Philly, an expired target gift card, my octopus blanket, a book about womxn, old spice
Colorful fire crackling
On dry Michigan wood
Campfire smell filling my nose
Arms wrap around me
Holding me tight
I hear little voices
Singing songs of rolling hills
And the taps on shoulders
Home is a small place that somehow still has room for everyone.
Home is filled with strangers. Definition: Family you've yet to come to know.
Abandonment hunger pain
love acceptance attention
childishness trust contentedness
hope
Struggle of saying goodbye
Not able to protect them
It is our privilege to bless
it boggles my mind
how they could seem so inviting
loving
yet the care is so completely
pretend
they can't even
love me so much
that they
make me even happy
they...
The fragrant zest of pine assaults my nose
as I exit the dingy white van. Now, at last, I know
where I am again, the gleaming lake and lawless country road my limits,
When I think of orientation
I dont immediately think education
when we think of excitement
Camp crimson is synonymous
we are sooner born sooner bred
As if their concentration camps weren't enough,
Now they have to shove big guns in our faces.
They do not care if we cry,
They do not care if we die.
All they care about is extinguishing our religion and race.
Why do I feel so worthless? I am lost in the high seas of people I have known for years. Yet, I am found in a group of complete strangers.
It’s not easy,
It’s not simple,
It’s sometimes a challenge,
And sometimes a ball.
It changes day by day,
And week by week.
Amazing one day,
Unbearable the next.
But I wouldn’t trade,
Silent elfin streams drift through and between
small hills covered in dead coastal redwood leaves,
soft and plush, my toes slide between little needles and
soil made of decomposed forest.
Two minutes of silence,
Five hundred beating hearts;
Five hundred minds are spinning,
Trying to connect the dots.
Mountains still tower over us,
And trees sparkle in the breeze.
She longs for the summer,
For days of sunshine and of thunder.
Back to the place where happiness
Isn't a chore
And sadness is never an option,
Not until "goodbye."
