Bailey Walker

We are
A low breed,
Held tall
By feeble supports,
Wooden stilts
That rot
Before our eyes,
Bending under
The weight of
Knowledge we have
Been offered,
We have denied,
Preferred to shrug
Away
Into the
Whistling wind,
Unspoken whispers.

We are
A heavy breed
That no one can
Move,
But will
Eventually
Become too much
For the shaking
Ground under us.

We will shout,

The dust shelves
Of the library
Used to bring;

Comfort,
Happiness.

We would sit,
For hours,
Breathing in the
Murky smell
That was so familiar,
Pouring over
Stacks and stacks
Of picture books.

Remember when we
Rode our bikes over
For the first time?
Neither of us
Thought we could
Make it all the way?

Remember when we
Would play
games
Between
Old shelves,

Those eyes,
Brown and
Sparkling in the
Sun,
Reflecting me
Like a still
Ocean
of
Trust,
Pure trust.
That smile,
wrinkling your cheeks,
Softening your
Face,
Long abused
Makes my heart
Burst with love.

The world
Is closing in around
You,
On top of you,
Something nobody
Deserves,
Nobody,
Especially you.

Pain should not
Be put upon
Children
Who carry
Heavy scars

I don't know why
We fought.
I don't know why
We couldn't forget
About everything
And let our
Lives carry on
Together.
I don't know why
I was crying,
I don't know why
You were shouting
So loudly.

All I remember
Is the blow you
Served me
Across the cheek,

The door, slamming
Shut,

And the rain falling
On my face
As I ran after you,
Barefoot and shaking,

Farming

By Bailey Walker
Home Schooled, Grade 8

I watched the little boy
Across the field grow up.
He was about the
Same age as me,
Give or take a few years.

He had blond hair
All his life
And it had always blown
About in the wind
As he worked outside
In the hay fields
With his father,
Overalls hanging loosely
Over his shoulders.
He would look up
Once in a while
To stare in my
Direction,
To where I always sat
Watching
From the porch,
Wondering
What that old farm
Has become,
That last one
In our town.
What is farming
Anymore
But a chance to
Live from your
Own pride?
It's not necessary
But I'm quite sure
Nothing tastes better
Than a freshly picked
Carrot
Still stained
With brown earth,
Or creamy milk
From your favorite cow
You watched graze in
The pasture just yesterday.
What is farming
But a chance to look
Around you
And smile with pride?

I am sitting
On a rock,
Half way between
Hell
And heaven
Which would be here.

I am contemplating
Falling versus flying
And trying to decide
Whether you will arrive
With my wings
Before this rock
And everything
On it,
Around it
Is dropped downward
To the hell
We have all been
Warned of.

But then,
Of course,
There's always the
Question of
Whether there
Really is a

I used to tell
Her
She was green,
Green like the
Wicked Witch
That melts in that
Movie we watched
Together

And she would
Cry, tears
Spilling down those
Delicate cheeks,
Leaving large
Salty streaks
My mother would
Carefully wipe
Away
Before setting off
To find me.

I would always be
In my room,
Pretending to
Be the cool
Older sister,
Insisting
She deserved

Defeat

By Bailey Walker
Home Schooled, Grade 8

I used to sit
On the warm
Grass
In the sunlight
And pray.

I'd pray for
My mom,
My dad,
My brothers
And grandparents,
My aunts and
Uncles,

And those things
That did not
Belong so
Directly
To me.

I'd pray for
The earth
That I live on,
I'd pray for the
Water
That I drank,
I'd pray for the
Air that I breathed

MY life is
A game
Of memory
And I can't
Find the
Match,
Can't find
A single
Pair.

My life is a
Storm cloud
That is passing by
Except it has
No thrill
Of lightning,
Just rattling thunder,
Never ending
Chaos.

My life is
The water
That lies in the
Rivers,
Lakes
And streams,
Dirty and
Contaminated
By my fellows.

My life is
Playing out before
Me,

Rose

By Bailey Walker
Home Schooled, Grade 8

Rose. That's what they shout out to me as the sun sets behind the purple mountains on the horizon and the dinner bell from our kitchen is sent into work. But I never come. Why should I want dinner, when I can feast on the colors and smells of my world? The apple tree at my back, rough and delicious, the grass, tickling my bare feet smelling of summer and all the pleasures I adore.
After a while, I would expect them to stop shouting my name from the barn, over the fields. It won't do them any good.
I am a rose, after all. Why would I want to close my petals, close me to fit in? I like it better, out here, where I can spread myself wide in the amber glow of the setting sun, and chase the fireflies until I drop to this wonderful earth, exhausted.
A rose can't survive without water...and mine is right here, against the apple tree, watching my lovely earth kiss the sun goodnight. And this is where I'll stay.

The cabinet door opened with a loud squeak and I bent my head back and forth quickly, searching the quiet room, though I knew it to be completely devoid of other life at this time. But still, I went over it in my head: Moms at Yoga, Dads at work, Billy's asleep in his crib and Martha, of course, hadn't been home for half a year. My breath steadied.

If I were President the first major problem I would face would be that of our greatest enemy...global warming.....which will, in my eyes, one day be the defeat of us all if we do not consider that, a MAJOR problem. So first of all I would like to say how everything has a reason.

I never could
Have
Imagined
How cold
The silver blade
Would be
Against the pulse
Of my throat,
Freezing the
Blood
Under my skin.

It comes,
Steadily spreading.
Through the gaps.
Under the covers.
It's in the air.
Sadness,
Anger,
Hatred
It's coming
And growing.
We must unite
Now.
We must fight it
To save our world.

Global Warming

By Bailey Walker
Home School, Grade 8

The world
Is shrinking
And dying
Before our eyes,
But we all seem
To be blind

And

How did
The blind man
Break his leg?
He didn't see
That rock
In his way.

We can't see
What is wrong

Because we're
So caught up
In the darkness

We have
C
R
E
A
T
E
D

By ourselves.

What do you do
When there is

Evidence

By Bailey Walker
Home Schooled, Grade 8

The parties
Late at night

When you leave
Me at home
Alone.

The excuses
To miss my lips
As I go to
Kiss you

And the lipstick
Stains on
Your shirt

Can all be counted
As evidence

That you don't
Love me anymore.

We are dying.
There is no denying it and
I will not tell myself
We may escape this condition,

Again.

I can feel death
Pulling on my soul,
Like a thin sheet...

Ripping away from the
Mattress.

But at least,
I have someone,
Something,
To hang onto
As I drift off.

You.

And we will never be torn apart,
Even in death.

We shall move on
Together.

I'm sorry.
The words are tight in my mouth,
Clouded by truth,
And muffled because
I don't mean it at all.

I'm sorry
That I do not live
A perfect life.

I'm sorry
That I'm not
As pretty on my outside
As on my inside.
If you ever bothered
To look,
You would see
It is true.

I'm sorry
Because I didn't know
There was an expectation
For me.

I'm sorry

Silk wind,
Around my body,
Muffling my frozen
Call,
Thickening the air
Around my face
With it's scaly
Fingers.
A chilly night,
A chance to die.

A flash of paper,
Printed with a photo,
Me and you,
That summers day
Under the willow tree
Whom I now weep
More than.
A chilly night,
A certain death.

Around my throat,
It pulls,
Yanking out my
Cold breath.
Second by second

Fingers stretching out,
Stretching out for you,
My fingers.

I see your face,
And I see mine,
Connected by the mouth,
Never pulling apart.

I'm kissing you.
Or
Are you kissing me?

Either way,
It's not my face that you
Keep running your hands
Over, all over.

I am far away.
I am watching.
I am listening
To the echoing sounds of love.

But it's not my love.

Crying in the night.
Rustling.
Sobbing.
The splash of tears
Against cold tile.
A light.
Her, Emma,
In the old pink night gown,
Passed down from girl
To girl,
Until it found her,
Fit her,
And she kept it.
Emma,
With a sad smile.
Emma,
With arms open
To the cold,
The sad,
The hungry
The lonely,
Open to everyone
Under our gray sky.

Emma has the answers

The Music
The Beat
Pounding my
Soul,
Shaking my
Head,
Moving my
Body.
The world
Stands still, holding
As I dance
With the
Music
And the
Beat.

Shaking,
Pounding,
Moving
Around the
World.

One thousand voices
Raised together,
Strong and
Standing in their
Words, in their song.
The notes wash over
Me, stunned, petrified
By the beauty of the
Swaying beat,
Dancing over me, around me.
Like a wave it sweeps
Through my toes, spreading
Over my entire body,
Inch by inch,
As the voices grow stronger,
Louder in their statement
Of song.
Joining their brothers,

I'll never forget
That perfect
Day,
When we both
Lay together in
The greenest grass
I have ever seen.
Though many
Days,
Months,
Years,
Which ever you
Like to count by,
Have past
Between that memory
And today,
I'll always hold
It dear,
I'll always hold
It close.

Our hair,
So long and
Wavy before the
Change,
Before we cut
Our golden
Locks,
Folded around our

Maggie chews with her mouth open. I know I shouldn't expect too much from a five year old, still wetting the bed, but when you are across from her the mash-potatoes suddenly become much less appetizing. I tried kicking her under the table, but my foot connect with Mr. Duran instead. Ooops...He looked around the crowed table, searching for the cause of his no doubt throbbing bruise.

His voice is
So strong,
Carrying through
Every tunnel and
Every forest,
Every building,
Reaching me
And brushing my
Cheek.

The white rider on the wind
Has a message for
You.

Echoing from the
Corners of the
Earth,
Mimicking the
Mocking bird's
Cry,
Telling stories of
The horrors he
Has witnessed with
His owb blood red
Eyes,
Whispering the
Strangled sobs

Different.
How can I
Describe different?
Unlike anyone,
Anything else.
Beautiful as your
own wonderful self.
Charismatic without
An ordinary smile.
Absolutely perfect
In every way.
You,
You are
Different,
To me,
To everyone.
I will never
Judge you,
Shun you,
Hate you
For being the
Way you are,
For being
Different,
I will only
Love you more
And long for
Your soft

I'll never forget
That perfect
Day,
When we both
Lay together in
The greenest grass
I have ever seen.
Though many
Days,
Months,
Years,
Which ever you
Like to count by,
Have past
Between that memory
And today,
I'll always hold
It dear,
I'll always hold
It close.

Our hair,
So long and
Wavy before the
Change,
Before we cut
Our golden
Locks,
Folded around our

Thanksgiving

By Bailey Walker
Home School, Grade 8

What am I thankful for?

I am thankful for darkness, I truly am. Without it I wouldn't have light. What would light be? It would be constant. It would be taken for granted. How many times have you been enclosed by darkness and wanted it to just go away? How many times have you wished for light? How many times did your thoughts go unanswered? Having darkness means having light.

I thank hatred, for showing me love. I thank it for explaining what love is. I thank it for not engulfing me as it has done to so many others.

Evil. Without it, who would be kind? Everyone, no one. When every person you know is so very nice, what would distinguish them from you, from the person you see walking down the street? Without the other, there can be no good, no heroes.

So, to answer the question, I am thankful for every man and woman close to me, and those far away, who are possessed by darkness, hatred and evil. You fill our lives with light, love, and heroes. You make us appreciate one another. You make us thankful. Thank you...

Three

By Bailey Walker
Home School, Grade 8

Three, standing.
Three, laughing.
Three, crying.

Three of us,
United by bonds
Of family.

Together, we
Support each other
With love.

Three.
A triangle,
A perfect
Shape.
We are
Bonded,
Forever,
Through anything.

Three, joking.
Three, playing.
Three, hugging.

We are
Connected in
Such a way
That no matter