can you keep a secret
in the pocket of your heart?
of my furtive glances
and enamored prances

i block out people who anger me

hence, my life is VERY filtered.

i am not yours to keep
or to snitch kisses from
or to hold secrets with
or to spar against
unless you surrender unabashedly your everything
half is not good enough
partial is as good as none
for i
i know to give nothing in return
than my totality.

dude. gatorade is pretty much the best thing ever.

it comes in normal plastic bottles, little fruit juice box type things, giant barrels that you pour on coaches after a good game, big plastic bottles, and IT EVEN COMES IN POWDER. WOOOOOOOOOWWW....

yeah. i really like gatorade.

powerade sucks.

There I was, standing next to the pebbles under the sky, bowing under the weight of the impending rain. I had stopped for a moment, interrupting my afternoon jog with a breezy pause by the Hudson River, overlooked by the orange/crimson/green mountains on the other side. It was a moment wedged between the calm and a thunderstorm. It was to be my only interlude of solidarity for the day. A smile crept on my face. It was nice just being—and being no one in particular. Not a cadet, not a student, not a daughter, not a writer, a garbage taker-outer, or a plethora of other labels tacked onto me throughout the week. There I was, just a person by the river sipping in the spectacular clarity of nature and all its trappings. I smiled. The moment was brief, but to me, it was worth forever.