age

(Okay, so this looks really long, but I REALLY appreciate anone who takes the time to read it all! Thanks! )

One hundred and twenty two steps

Is the distance from my porch to the

Vacant house.

I used to romp through those saplings,

Which are wider that I am now,

Worrying about ticks and spiders

And any other crawling things

That could cling to my dress

Which I had been instructed to keep clean.

His hands were pudgy,

Yet, so were mine.

I guess we hadn’t grown up;

At that point, we had only grown out.

My little brother used to follow us;

Frederick.

He hated being Fred, and he hated the rick.

I guess his name was just a lost cause.

To escape the rick,

I had snuck out before the sun had time

To shimmer on blades of grass.

I guess the Fred in his name immunized

Him from the cold of the summer night;

However, he was petrified of night as black as tar

Ever since that car hit our tabby cat.

And so with success,

I had snuck away to see

The boy with the pudgy hands.

And we walked through the woods,

Dragging our feet through the mud

As we dared ourselves to take one more step.

One hundred and twenty two steps;

I remember counting between gasps.

Between maple leaves,

A golden window floated in the darkness.

We ran.

Hands on our knees, panting by my porch, Read more »

A-G-E

At the Beginning;

One being an adolescent

Experiences a feeling of spinning

And envisions a dazzling florescence

And as time goes;

The radiance fading

The adolescent grows

The spinning dwindling

A secure feeling exchanged

A gloomy glow remaining

And as time goes;

The embers are burning

Mocking the once glowing florescence

The once spinning adolescent

As time goes.

A-G-E

At the Beginning;

One being an adolescent

Experiences a feeling of spinning

And envisions a dazzling florescence

And as time goes;

The radiance fading

The adolescent grows

The spinning dwindling

A secure feeling exchanged

A gloomy glow remaining

And as time goes;

The embers are burning

Mocking the once glowing florescence

The once spinning adolescent

As time goes.

When I think of you,
I think of warm summers
spent beach side with
half-melted chocolate &
vanilla bean ice cream,
(you never ate anything other than vanilla bean)
and we always used to
chase butterflies &
crickets in the field behind my house,
but we never caught anything,
not like we ever cared
because it was fun &
the grass was perfect for falling backwards into
& landing with soft "thuwumps"
& shrieking laughter
(it was the most beautiful thing I ever heard)

We used to watch clouds go by
& pick out shapes,
even making up a few & Read more »

“It’s not the 1950’s anymore, you know,” she said, wrapping the flamingo coloured boa loosely around her leathery neck. “It’s what, the 21st century? I say this is the time for us. This is the time to get out there and really show ‘em what we’ve got.” Doris shrugged her shoulders, allowing the voluptuous string of feathers to slide down her bare, sun-spotted back to the arch where her spine met her hips. Read more »

I caught myself staring at an old collage I made in 7th grade late tonight, hanging on the end of my bookshelf with a small piece of glossy scotch tape.

I don't know what it was, but there I was, looking at these pictures as if it were my first time seeing it. The people looked so different, like strangers.

A picture of me with some relatives that came and stayed at my house that summer, the summer between 6th and 7th grade - Elementary School and Junior High.

My aunt and uncle who live in Georgia state. We never get to see them much. Their kids. My 7 year old cousin and his little baby sister. My uncle's brother-in-law (I call him my Sorta-Kinda-Uncle).

I don't remember the last time I saw them all. My uncle came up alone for a graduation this year. He seemed just the same, still tall and still having the same glasses and the same quiet mannerisms. Read more »

I turned to my left,
twisting my back at an odd angle,
and with it I twisted my heart.
Spotted.
Eyes widen.
I was spotted,
doing something I am halfway proud of.
The public's thought process makes my actions
incorrect,
false,
wrong.
Is it wrong?
It doesn’t feel like it's wrong.
Only halfway happy with it,
because I grew up living in the eyes of others.
And in there,
this is not allowed.

I am just to old for this world.
Too grown up?
Too mature?
I close my eyes, and hope that when I open them,
I will be young again... my youth restarting.
I never asked to turn 18.
I never wanted to grow old.
You are "too young" for only once in your life,
but after that... you're always "too old"
I still have the heart of a child...
but that matters little in a world Read more »

He stares at himself
in the long
bathroom
mirror.

His eyes surrounded by
wrinkles and age,
skin loose and
sagging,
he is a thin, plastic bag
billowing and
frail
as the wind
laughs,
and sighs:
Boy,
look what I've done
to you.

Slowly he
undresses, each bone
creaking, frail,
and he
keeps staring,
each imperfection carved into his
flesh
is just another Read more »