Is it magic?

I have never been quite sure if books were truly just words on paper, the ideas of authors who are just ordinary people or if they are magic incarnate.  

Because they have never, ever just been words on paper to me. 

They have always been and always will be an escape, a happy place, somewhere safe to go when you can’t leave. 

They’ve always been a portal to a magical world where the biggest worries are if the side character will make it or if that one couple will get together. 

A world of magic with comfort. 

A world that I wish I could live in forever. 

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M. Hank

VT

14 years old

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  • Poetry

    By M. Hank

    Malady of Mistrust

    Cursed.

    Am I cursed?

    Cursed to tie myself to people, swearing that they’re going to be different.

    Only for resentment to grow like ivy, sentencing me to a place of discontent.

    I’ve called it paranoia.

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  • Poetry

    By M. Hank

    Green

    When I think of the color green, I think of the trees behind my school. In kindergarten, when kids were cruel and words hurt more than sticks or stones, the trees were there.

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  • Poetry

    By M. Hank

    I made tea

    I made tea this morning.

    I put the leaves in, watching the steam dance with childlike wonder.

    I returned to my laptop, staring at a half finished chapter, the bags under my eyes more apparent than ever.

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