Why am I if I am uncertain reasons may inclose.   
Remain remain propose repose chose.   
I call carelessly that the door is open   
Which if they may refuse to open   
No one can rush to close.   
Let them be mine therefor.   
Everybody knows that I chose.   
Therefor...

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....

Turn off the lights.
Wear another layer.
(Sounds like a dad.)
(Sounds like a mom.)

You say hand-me-down.
I say retro.

Walk.
Bike.
Walk some more.
Recycle.

(See what I did there,
bike—recycle?)

Your name in Sharpie
on a good water bottle.
Backpack. New habits.
No thanks, don’t need a bag.

What else.
Oh yeah.

Tell ten friends
who...

I am a door of metaphor
waiting to be opened.
You’ll find no lock, no key.
All are free to enter, at will.
Simply step over the threshold.
Remember to dress for travel, though.
Visitors have been known
to get carried away.Illustration by Shadra Strickland

I know this is a real thing, because
When I was a kid, my big sister took me
To the Capitol Theater, in my hometown
Of Rochester, NY,

And there was a movie that afternoon,
The Tingler, which starred Vincent Price,
And what I remember best...