audreySL

“I’m good at poetry, I just don’t like it very much.

It’s one of those things where if you do it enough for school, you get just as good as someone who likes it.”

On Sunday night, you can find me empty in my full room.

Head cocked, half leaning on the arm of my chair,

Listening to the mechanical birdsong of my alarm clock.

Top Gun soundtrack and

peanut butter m&m's and

writing poetry for my friends on

torn-out sheets of notebook paper, scrawling

the verses in pink ink that

reminds me of fairy wings and

Walking home after dark or that short top

Are blamed more then the man who didn’t listen to the woman yelling stop

Appalled?

Well at 10 I was catcalled

I’ve been grabbed

and—

time
(itsoveritsoveritsoveritsover)
stops.

there

are
tears
in
your
eyes,
mascara
smeared

today's air tastes like berries

and overused metaphors. the shadows run

across golden ground, and i look 

at our old stone wall like they would in farmers' days.

a boundary, a gate