Explore Poems: Being Oneself

If, even now, I am excited about it: every cow & horse,
every canoe on the surface of Pyramid Lake—…

Don’t. The past is overcrowded with the future 
closer than you think. You blink, that’s one 
eon; a yawn…

make
this world
a whole lot
brighter

when
I
grow up
I'll
be
a writer.
I'll
write about
some things
I know—

                    how to bunt
                    how to throw . . .

           ...

My sister found them.
 
Read them out loud.
She’s so proud,
 
she’s running to our parents
waving my poems in the air.
 
Doesn’t she know 
she’s waving my underwear?

Up till now,
the math of my life
has been pretty simple:
friends
plus family
plus sports.
What more
could I ask for, right?
But lately,
my outside has been changing
and my inside keeps telling me
more is on the way.
Trouble is,
I'm not sure
I'm ready.

He said I was different because I was dark. She said I was different because 
I wore a scarf. He said I was different because I had an accent. She said I was different because I couldn’t read. He said...

I guess you could call me broken,
says one. I’m still lonely, says another,
but now I can name it with a song.

In my poem, says another,
I can forget I am forgotten. Now
I understand being misunderstood,

says another. And another says,
in a bold,...

Spinning through space for eons,
our earth—oceans, rivers, mountains,
glaciers, tigers, parrots, redwoods—
        evolving wonders.

And our vast array, generations
of humans—all shapes, colors, languages.

        Can I be the only me?

Our earth: so much beauty, hate,
     ...

          Summer’s ending.

I sit on my desert rock, listen
          to the world’s hum.
                   Crows and ravens caw,
finches and sparrows chirp. A dog barks.

   ...

I come home,
feet about to bleed
from angry stomping.
“Boy!” says Mom.
“Quit making all that racket.”
But what does she expect
when, day after day,
haters sling words at me
like jagged stones
designed to split my skin?
I retreat to my room,
collapse on the bed,
count, “One. Two....

My body is
perfect and
imperfect and
black and
girl and
big and
thick hair and
short legs and
scraped knee and
healed scar and
heart beating and
hands that hold and
voice that bellows and
feet that dance and
arms that embrace and
my momma’s eyes and
my daddy’s smile and
my grandma’s hope and

my body...

They ignored the new boy,
snickering behind his back.

                                                    In silence, I stayed     safe.
   ...

One tiny tree frog
with big eyes
sings happily,
“Kokee! Kokee!”

His brother comes to bother.
Coquí doesn't push him.
Coquí doesn't bite him.
Coquí tells him,
“Kokee-Kee! Kokee-Kee!”

Two tiny tree frogs
with big eyes
sing happily,
“Kokee! Kokee!”

I came to Panama planning to dig
the Eighth Wonder of the World,
but I was told that white men
should never be seen working
with shovels, so I took a police job,
and now I've been transferred
to the census.

I roam the jungle, counting laborers
who...

On an island of music
in a city of drumbeats
the drum dream girl
dreamed
 
of pounding tall conga drums
tapping small bongó drums
and boom boom booming
with long, loud sticks
on big, round, silvery
moon-bright timbales.
 
But everyone
on the island of music
in the city of drumbeats
believed that only...

Books are door-shaped
portals
carrying me
across oceans
and centuries,
helping me feel
less alone.

But my mother believes
that girls who read too much
are unladylike
and ugly,
so my father's books are locked
in a clear glass cabinet. I gaze
at enticing covers
and mysterious titles,
but I am rarely permitted
to touch
the enchantment
of...

Ostrich and Lark started each morning together
at first light,
day in and day out.
 
And they parted
at nightfall.
 
Every day they nibbled an ongoing meal:
a few seeds here,
a few seeds there;
for Ostrich, the occasional lizard.
 
All day the sun glared out of cloudless blue.
 
Every...

“I'm so—”
I start to apologize,
but Albert laughs.
“It's not my birthday,”
he says.
I'm confused.
“It's for you, Bindi.”
“Me?” I say. “It's not
my birthday, either.”
Albert leads me to the chair.
He hands me the present.
I open it.
It's one of those
plastic trophy things.
It says: “World's Best Sister.”
I get all...

Universe
                     Galaxy
                                     Solar System
                     ...

When my aunt died,
my uncle raised his hands
like a prophet in the Bible.
“I've lost my girl,” he said,
“I've lost my girl,” over and over,
shaking his head.

I didn't know what to say,
where to look,
my quiet uncle raising his voice
to silence.

My aunt...