Whisked away,
In a dark unknown.
Long fingers pull us out.
Scrutinize.
We’re unlaced,
Laced again,
Step by step we thud against the ground.
White turns to gray,
Soles become worn,
Laces tattered.
Eventually we become,
D i s c a r d e d.
Posted in response to the challenge Witness.
Middle school is a horrible place
Many watch themselves
Compare to others
Lie to fit in
No one wants to be the only one
No one wants to stand out
No one wants to do the right thing
During the holidays
I find the most joy in
Baking cookies
Knowing that my family will smile when they try them
Making and buying presents
Knowing that my family will smile when they open them
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