i’d say there’s no art in losing yourself but why else am i a poet? by Jaiden Thompson (14, Washington)*

there’s something about the lakes
and the way her eyelids damn me 
like crosses lodged in my throat
and i never believed in sacrifice 
but maybe the lord was a queen
fabrics caught in our static sun
and he simply ripped apart
bloody and bare and beaten
and black eyes aren’t black 
they’re like sickly peacocks 
but i’m meant to be a rooster ​

---

aren’t i stray moonbeams 
and i miss them again
though our hips are molded
i was told to have a body
but i’d much rather Not Exist
realities weeping seeping and
you learn to sneak through gorges
when you’re such a fragile thing
silk dimples always collapse and
my friend sabotaged my project
white lava staining her red like
the crystal blood on mom’s face
when sirens melted the pink sky
like cotton candy bubbles cracking
the cupboard’s wishbones and
maybe she was alive because 
frozen rabbit feet bring no luck 
but otter pops cut your lips and
you’d think plastic unreliable but
he’s the one who came to the party
slammed the piñata against wood
like a saddening supernova and
i wanted to pop my own stars
an artist shattering constellations 
but dad took my paints again
and i’ll cry melted crayons but
tears are no longer beautiful and
he despises worthless emotion 
in a household of four WOMEN
you must expect weakness but
i abandoned english and became
我们 which tastes genderless like
peach jelly tie dyed polo shirts 
and katalia was never a color
velvet against honey brown skin
don’t smell burnt blubber child and
arson is free when you’re pretty
like cherry blossoms trapped in curls
coloring you nature’s warrior and
listen to her broken cries like hail
hail is just stubborn snow he said
icicles cowering beneath a mighty boot
and i’ve always wanted doc martens
but my dad smells queer and revolts
and this year i’ll miss pride again
because sickness drives out our sins
if god is gay would he call himself slurs
to finally feel fire against his earlobes
like burning marshmallows on me
and camping smells like the 4th
with colors jabbing our ashen sky
or popping pop movie night is canceled
but i’ll still cry and shine like an actor
and my stage mic will never stick
so i’m screaming at midnight though
i cannot breathe anymore i can’t breathe 
delusions are tunnels between realities
maybe i’m a delirious depressed scientist 
if i can drown in puzzles but not detach
like honey bees in our tasteless pool
she’ll yell but sissy they’re dead and
am i evil if i ditch a funeral like a party
because i never liked black roses
can blood stain something too dark to live
and blood makes me panic like cycles
like spirals i wonder if the turtles broke
that’s why our earth is shattering and
she told me to eat the broken glass but
i already despise stabbing migraines 
all of the medication ma’am i’m sorry
and the water burned much more like
no one actually cares darling and 
and if they do then oh god i’m dreaming