Essay

I wish I could tell you this is poetry;
Imperfect but acceptable, art, expression, understanding, the solution to some question i could not answer otherwise,

Being a teen is like standing at the very edge of a tall cliff. One wrong move and it all crumbles; one wrong dress, one wrong word, one wrong love and you're over. 

Hey,

In the past, the greatest people in history were known for changing the world for the better.

The ancient Greeks believed that names held power. I happen to agree. 

I don’t remember when I first discovered this truth. It is something I feel like I have always known, since the moment I received my first name. 

I live in the city of Minneapolis. Like most cities, there’s light pollution, car noises, and all the other things we associate with cities.

Type-A students are concerned about grades, sports, extra-curriculars, and future college admissions. We are very much perfectionists, obsessive about awards, recognition and academic achievement.

There is a swirl of color that accompanies all things. 

Every twist and turn, every fall and failure. All words spoken and sung, every smile or laugh. 

There's a point you can't look for that means you wait; homework tucked away, lips chapped yet somehow unbleeding, socks on in bed the way you never have before.

Today the skin of my knuckles split. Blood made a little stain on the back of my hand, and it stung. I saw the splotch, at first, earlier in the day, anyway, and it wasn't too bad, just a little red circle.

The white mouse turns a corner and slides on the cold tile of the kitchen floor. The grey-striped cat follows closely behind, its claws clattering as it chases the quick blur of white.

In the blustery cold of today’s noonday sun, I stand holding a sign amongst a group of people with similar signs.