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Aubree Nelson Poem
If I got hit by a car 2 years ago,
I would’ve called you.
And I would’ve ranted about how the driver was drunk
and I wasn’t even in the road,
and you’d make a joke about how he was aiming for me
to get my number from the insurance company.
And it would make me laugh hard enough
to forget my legs were broken.
If we ever made it to college,
you’d have been my emergency contact.
But 2 years ago,
I got hit by something worse than a car
and you didn’t pick up the phone,
so I had to deal with a broken spirit and no cure.
So, I’m grateful 2 years ago my contact was my mom,
but what do I do now?
Because I’m scared no one will answer my calls,
no matter who I write down.
In 1 week, it will have been 2 years since we fell apart,
and I always hoped I’d have a new contact by now.
And I do,
someone that made me wonder
why I ever wanted to call you in the first place.
Psalm 50:15
Copyright © Aubree Nelson | Year Posted 2025
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Aubree Nelson Poem
So, I’m home for winter break
and trying not to break
because I thought I could break away from my problems, my chains—
but my wrists break instead of the shackles.
I don’t want to be home—
I came back, and no one was home.
Just like the week before,
and the month before,
and the year before.
And when I think more,
I can’t remember the last time anyone was home.
I’m starting to think
that I don’t have any home mates.
Not housemates, not roommates—
they’re here, but they aren’t home.
Because home to me isn’t here.
It’s somewhere between love and fear,
somewhere between far and near,
somewhere I don’t have to hear from any of you—
about how I’m overreacting
and unprepared
and indecisive
and just, scared.
I know that.
That’s why I bought new bedding and towels and hangers.
That’s why I spent four months with so-called world changers—
just to feel like I’m no longer in danger.
The people in this house can’t see
I’m building a home somewhere else.
That’s why I came home and didn’t see them anywhere.
Because most days, home is wherever they’re not.
But I need them like water—
only, I can’t swim.
I’ll die with them and without them.
I had a semester-long break.
Copyright © Aubree Nelson | Year Posted 2025
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Aubree Nelson Poem
The sun and the moon will always be connected
but almost never together,
because the moon likes to keep her distance.
The sun does her work for all to see
but the moon gets to do hers judgement free.
And everyone loves the sun when she paints the sky
but never when she stares at them for too long,
they get burned by her affection.
But the moon’s never done anything wrong,
not that anyone’s aware of.
She can glance as long as she likes,
she just may not get many returning gazes.
Only from those dreading to see the sun again.
And the sun doesn’t know,
but the moon grows jealous of her light
because even stars outshine her.
People who do look at the moon think she’s beautiful,
and the waves crawl up the shore just to be closer to her.
But she doesn’t think so.
She thinks they’re just too far away to tell.
All they see is the sun in small doses, but never her.
It’s fine, she prefers to be peripheral.
The sun loves her because she sees herself in the moon,
but she hates her for being so cold and distant.
They’re never together for longer than a moment.
If she stays far enough away, no one will find what she’s hiding.
Copyright © Aubree Nelson | Year Posted 2025
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Aubree Nelson Poem
Speaking through fingers,
leaves stinging that lingers,
and it runs like shivers
that run down your spine.
Bruises and imprints
on insides of fingertips,
on feelings and visions
of when you were mine.
God does not waste pain,
or waste space, so explain,
how do I stop thinking
of you all the time?
Texting and calling,
and writing and drawing,
runs steady and steadier
on the decline.
Speaking less of the mess,
and fighting and stress,
helps fingers stop speaking
and hang up the line.
Copyright © Aubree Nelson | Year Posted 2026
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