The time that only comes twice a year, 
I wish it didn’t have to happen at all. 
The most stressful week of the semester is upon us 
now my teachers insist I stare at textbooks, 
look at my chicken scratch notes, 
and try my best to comprehend 
what was taught three months ago. 
It seems impossible, it might as well be 
for someone with as short an attention span as me.
This is a special kind of torture and 
my only goal is to pass but there is so much pressure, 
I swear all I want to do is sleep, but that won’t be possible 
until final week ends 
the time that only comes twice a year, 
I wish it didn’t have to happen at all.

By the end of one school day I’ve somehow lost my last 
two pencils, have transferred my hair from down to a ponytail at least 
three times and have spent the last
four hours in absolute confusion from a combination of both my own stupidity and the 
five hours of sleep I got last night.

When I get back home I immediately ignore my homework until about 
six p.m. when it becomes unavoidable but after about ten minutes of science and just
seven minutes of math homework I’m ready for bed but spend 
eight more minutes on my phone until the hour hits exactly 
nine p.m. due to my own personal obsession.

Then I head to bed only to spend another 
ten minutes thinking about the embarrassing slip and fall I took in front of the 
eleventh graders during lunch, which were french fries, a 
twelve letter series of words which I noted for Scrabble.

If you open this in ten years time
Whether it be in a box underground or online
I hope that you take this with a grain of salt
Because I’m sure that things have changed a lot

Here in the year twenty twenty-one
It is the month november, the year is almost done
Right now is nothing too unique or special
But I imagine that later this will be sentimental

I hope that you think that this message is nice
And that you will accept my free advice
Because although this might be stuck in the past
It can be very helpful even though time has passed

Keep your head held high and stand proud
Just ignore people that try to tear you down
Don’t be afraid to speak your mind
And don’t be afraid to say goodbye

The world right now is a scary place
And I’m sure your right now moves at a fast pace
But it's nothing you haven’t handled before

A ripple crawls across the water 
small in the beginning and growing in size 
it ruffles the plants growing under

The water is tinted a dark green and small pieces of debris 
float around while small bubbles pop up marking
where fish swim underneath

Trees line the border of the water 
while birds mark their branches with nests and 
the leaves of bright yellow and orange color fall

Fishers toss their hooks and bait 
while their kids run around causing splashes in the shallow edges 
the fish sometimes bite and other times they catch plastic bags

The beach is flooded with dead fish and
in the water cans and bottles litter the surface
the water rarely bubbles anymore

The trees fade faster and the leaves fall quicker 
while their bark peels off in flakes and the 
branches crash down breaking the glass-like seal of the water

Anachronism: a person or a thing that is chronologically out of place

There is a girl in my class
Nice, sweet, caring, funny
She wasn’t meant for this time

Once she came to school with an injured leg
Didn’t complain, not once, didn’t mention it
She wasn’t meant for this time

When she smiles it lights up a room
Her presence was like a flame
She wasn’t meant for this time

Maybe she is too far in the future
I think she’s too far in the past

In the future I’d like to think that it’d be better
I’d like to think she wouldn’t be special
That everybody would be nice, sweet, caring, funny
That she would be meant for that time

 

Alea Blake was insane, that’s what everybody said. It came out of nowhere according to her parents, but the many psychologists that were sent to evaluate her said that there must have been signs. But something that both her parents and therapists said was that there was no cure. So now she was trapped. Trapped in this prison for those who are already trapped in their heads. 

Tap, tap, tap, she rammed her long nails against the linoleum floor, her head tilted to the side as if she was listening for something, she was. 

“Hello Alea,” a small voice said, quiet and sweet it reverberated around her head.

“Hello,” she said brightly, her voice loud, her nails now silent.

            “Hey!” a guard yelled from down the hall, his voice echoing around the concrete walls, “shut it!” he shouted, his inflection sounding rough compared to the fairy-like tone that belonged to the voice that seemed to float around her ear. 

the color of love
and bravery to stand up
of rage filled anger

the color of warmth
and hugs from parents and friends
of bright burning fire

the color of joy
and warm summer days to share
of lemon cream pie

the color of grass
and small frogs that jump around
of evergreen trees

the color of cold
and the encompassing sea
of the clear bright sky

the color of strength
and small joys and happiness
of beauty and truth

Throughout the career of Sergeant Davis, there had never been a case that had haunted him like that of Mara Strauss. Mara was only twelve when she disappeared and in the town that she lived in everyone knew everything about everyone, so when Mara Strauss went missing that light summer day, dark clouds seemed to cover the faces of everyone. That only got worse when her body was found twenty miles out of town buried in a ditch. Of course, as anyone would expect, her parents felt everything on an entirely different level. 

High school is like a river,
rushing, bustling and moving forward
The waves crashing on those riding through
working through the current

High school is like a tree
standing tall, seeming unbreakable
The leaves rustle and drop on those underneath
hoping to successfully climb to the top

High school is like a ocean
running deep, filled with many
The water surrounds and envelops those in it
supporting them above or dragging them under

Do you ever think of the walls that we walk past
while sharing our deepest darkest secrets
like rivers that won't stop flowing until restrained
if they could talk what do you think they would say?

Would they scream and shout that we are wrong
or would they understand
If they could move would they comfort us?
would they tell us "it's alright?"

Do you not wonder the same of those around you?

How could you predict the reactions of those around you
any better than the
grafitied walls that we walk past during school 
the blank light blue walls of the hospital?

The walls can't talk, they won't
but people around you can
The walls can't comfort, they won't
but people around you can

So care less of the walls and their thoughts
and concern yourself with your own