your hands are scarred from murder, and yet, I trust them completely. -unknown

this is not a poem about grief. 

this is not a poem about a murderer.

this is a poem about someone who made it easier to breathe. 

it’s about watching the sun rise and seeing its rays of light kiss the trees.

it’s about buddhist diffusers and stolen halloween candy and words that felt like hugs.

it’s about how i can still hear her say, “i love you,” 

and believe it.

this is not a poem about first degree felonies.

this is a poem about her standing in the hallway to greet every student who walked through her door and even some who didn’t.

it’s about the plaque on her desk that read, “be yourself. i love you like that.”

it’s about the inside jokes we shared over college football and math teachers and pickle erasers.

it’s about learning to love and trust and hope,

praying it wouldn’t always hurt so much to breathe.

this is not a poem about gunshots.

this is a poem about all the lives that were supposed to end, but didn’t because of her.

it’s about red yoga pants and beanie weather.

it’s about counting on her to care, counting on her to listen.

it’s about learning what it meant to take care of myself like she taught me,

but only after she was gone.

this is not a poem about my teacher killing her ex-husband’s girlfriend and leaving me to deal with the gaping hole in my heart.

this is a poem about the hope she gave me.

it’s about being believed in.

it’s about knowing i was loved.

it’s about believing with my whole heart that when she was here, telling me she’d always be here for me,

she believed it too.