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I was falling.  Drifting as the air carried me down.  I remember being on the tree, surrounded by other tulip leaves. It was warm then. My stem had been steady against the tree, a sturdy connection between all tulip leaves. Slowly, it became weaker,  withering and severing over time.  And now I was falling.  There was nothing special about it either. Hundreds of others fell with me. I wasn’t the first. I wasn’t the last. And when I finally hit the ground, it wasn’t what I expected. There were different types of leaves, not just tulips.  Oak, Elm, Hickory, Elder, even Birch. Then the wind came, it blew all of us up, twisting and drifting just like before.  When I settled, it was different again. Eventually the wind stopped. I stopped drifting, stilling under the skeleton of a bur oak tree.

different.                                                                                          The rain today...feels                                                                              As though more than                                                                    a storm brewing.                                                       Tonight, the lightning will                                                  reach the earth like hands.                                                              Hands of a person                                                                       Hands of mine.    Hands of mine that are                                                                                            cold. Cold from the rain.                                                                                                 Cold from my tears.                                                                                                                  Cold.                                                                                                    Like the night of                                                                                            The impenetrable                                                                                         water. Sweeping over the houses, Taking it all Like the greed of hurt. Of anguish and disgust. All built up before crumbling over The small town left the ones I love dear, cold. motionless. dirty. The bodies becoming hazy to the eye til only an indistinct mass Blurred, Forgettable In my mind the water flooding the ridges of my brain till all I can do is scream scream like the lightning Booms. helpless to the morphing, in my heart Into a spring, Held in a box, Just hold it in place  one more time Before it unravels again. So, when I grab the earth with the lightning of my hands don’t expect it to be only The shift of the house settling.

In dim-lit rooms where paper moons dissolve on tongues of fire, A painted world begins to bend around borrowed desires. Crystal comets kiss the world and flood the chest with light, But dawn collects their glitter remains, abandoned by the night. Green ghosts curl slow in amber air, soft sermons in the haze, Promising a peace in water that only ever strays. My mirror learns a thousand angelic masks, a soul was never meant, While outside waits a hollow world. glass walls and a million eyes, where hogs scripts our breath, and living feels like lies. So kings of fleeting galaxies drift pale beneath the sun, For every door they floated through, a deeper one, undone. The laughter fades to hollow bells that echo down the hall, Where paper moons once held them up, but never broke the fall. The crystal comets no longer bright, their colors running thin, And every borrowed paradise begins to fold within. A quiet room, a silent dawn, the mirror cold and bare, The kings of fleeting galaxies now vanish into the air. For every mother’s child, they tried to keep trapped in a trembling hand, The world reclaimed them, like scattered light, drifting grains of sand. And you grow up.

In the happy green meadow Where sunlight falls in rays I think it's so pretty Yet I think only of your face The field turns solemn Just like my heart My head is angry Like it's tearing me apart  Why do I love you so When I know it doesn't work I know It's incompatible And when it is, it hurts, And when I get happy,  And I try to grow, I see that face in every place And then… it isn't so I wish I could kiss you But you’re so far And why oh why Do I leave my love door ajar For only you can enter  Not anybody else I have no idea why Except that you make me feel myself

My grandfather died and I did not cry. It was not because I didn’t love him. It was not because he made me mad. It was not because I held something against him. It was not because I was happy. My grandfather died and I did not cry. It was because our visits were synced with the blue moon. It was because I forgot to pick up the phone when he called. It was because I was too busy to call back. It was because I thought he would pay for my college tuition. It was because he would whisper promises for the future under his breath, shielding fragile words under the soft blanket of mother tongue from the harsh world outside. My grandfather died and I did not cry. It was because that day, I was not at my breaking point – not yet. It was because that day, I did not want to break. It was because that day, my family was an hour away. It was because that day, I did not see my father. It was because that day, I remembered I will die too. It was because that day, my mother did not have to tell me for me to know. My grandfather died and I did not cry. It was because my memories were so faded. It was because I kept trying to remember the last time he gave me advice. It was because the only memories I could seem to pull from the abyss of my childhood are when he showed me his large surgical scar that ran down the middle of his chest or when he gave me a birthday gift and said, “Happy birthday, zogu.” It was because I remembered the last time I hugged him, kneeling over the hospital bed planted in the living room. It was because I remembered the last words I said to him: “Do të shihemi”  – We will see each other again. My grandfather died and I did not cry. It was because I must be strong. It was because I must be steadfast. It was because my mother wept on my shoulder that night. It was because she cried all the tears I needed to. It was because she will never see her father again. It was because I could not make it a day without mine. It was because I carry the neighborhood of grief on my shoulders to the future. It was because I am the only one that can see that far.  I trudge along a wet beach letting the sand fill the gaps between my toes. The tide has risen and taken one of us with it – now he will drown in a sea of souls. Maudlin gait and jejune words mark my presence so near the maw of death. I am not fazed. I have not yet taken my last breath.

A man just walked past me and left behind the stench of blue raspberry vape smoke, attached to his shirt like the microbiome it is. As it traveled through my nose, I almost teleported back to Baba Den’s house, where the same exact flavor could be smelt dancing through the stagnant air. It reminded me of the memory foam mattress at the end of the hallway in Adrian’s room that I sunk into, maybe trying to escape somewhere that didn’t always feel like home. It reminded me of the time I trashed Juliana’s room, tearing out her drawers and throwing her clothes everywhere. It reminded me of my favorite basement that I wouldn’t go near without its industrial fluorescent lighting beaming bright. It reminded me of the hospital bed planted in place of the couch in the living room. It reminded me of a time that I cannot revisit. It reminded me that we’ve all grown up now. It reminded me that some of us didn’t make it. It reminded me of the all nighters, the crying, the accidents, the bathrooms, the weekends, the divorce, the winter breaks, Carter, the christmases, the cupcakes, the funfetti frosting I ate straight from the jar, the dominoes, the whipple, the spleen, the goodbyes, the hellos, the boyfriends, the love, the laughter, the departure, the questions, the vlogs, the Xbox, the longest drive, the smallest town, the Sunrise Cafe, the warehouse, the ATV, the old boat, the semi trucks, the handshakes, the loudest radio, the hugs, the mother tongue, the train whistle, the memories, the end.

Silence. Oppressive. Stifling. Empty. Only because I am warmth of searing pain, cold branding iron on soul. Body constricts, vacuum sealed No room for me. Sounds a soothing balm   vibrating through space,    dyeing the water of my soul   colors of pondering ripples   eradicating silence. Sound waves  bring the first fish   swimming in and around    my soul humming   Hymns resonating  with the first note. Vibrations  paint the colors of the soul   bouncing jellyfish in the sea    I hold it, my hands dyed colors   it leaves me and swirls away,  carried by currents of sound joining the vibrant river of scales.  Imitation   is the survival of fish     feeling for resonations   of people so far away right next to me   let their frequencies splash     through my body, my soul   I hold them inside I make them my own. Creation  of self isn’t a process   done alone, in silence    I must listen to others   see their colors  mix them into me shape myself anew. Realization isn’t much like a crashing wave   It’s easy, slow arrival with time     spent thinking, listening to others       until the water rises enough         swirling with colors and fish       radiant ripples in their wake     frequencies bounce around   and I can finally hear myself. Resonation  My sound among others.   It fills me so clearly, an iridescent    church bell of vibrant scales     piercing through the walls    of my limitations,   my body and my soul  warm with my rippling waves unsilenced and free.

I feel the breeze amidst the branch lightly blowing my tip from side to side  I watch from outside the neighbor’s home Each day when the sun rises, children run outside abandoning their summer flip flops and T-shirts  for wool sweaters and jackets  That’s when I know  the new season has fallen  As September approaches my vibrant green layers become  tints of red and yellow  My fellow squirrel friends find haven below me  September then turned into October with my yellow features  turning into bright orange  I mimic a pumpkin  The night of Halloween,  a chill creeps into my core  As kids in zombie and Disney princess costumes  run about for candy  a harsh gust swooshes through the town bringing along a trail of leaves  once belonging to my tree  That’s when I know  it would soon be my time to leave  Each passing day in November  comes with a freezing chatter in my soul  My once orange self  slowly becomes withered along the edges while more leaves fall to the ground  I am one of few who remain on the once blooming maple tree Rakes scratch the lawn beneath me and a brown wilted pile emerges  The wind hasn’t led me to my end yet but a sense of loneliness washes over me Now, I’m the only leaf residing on my branch  I long my vibrant blossoms  and I miss the other leaves  Together, we stood so bravely  becoming a valiant standing tree  Out of the blue, a gale blows through the gray sky  My body starts shaking  and I slowly drift to the ground  blending with the other scattered counterparts  Although I’m sad to leave my maple branch  a sense of relief washes over me I am raked into that same leaf pile and I can finally be reunited with the others The end of fall and the upcoming new year  will bring new beginnings I can only wait  until I am reborn  A new green leaf blossoming on my maple tree