Poetry

It all started with the big bang — the mighty "thwack"-ing noise that connected my body to the prickly embrace of the wood chips below. My descent from the jungle gym was far from graceful, solo mission "rescue Mr.

Do you

Ever feel like

You are drowning? I do

Late at night, music that echoes

My soul

I want to cry

I want to let it out

Each tear

A reminder of my failures

Each tear 

Filled with my fears

Each tear

A bottle of sadness 

Maybe anger

I want to cry

But why?

Is the question I'll play on repeat

Because there wasn't really 

Anything special about you

Was there?

At least I can say I tried to like you

it is morning

defined 

by linen against soft skin

wet grass 

and an orange sunrise

quiet 

from the west

to the east 

a bus is parked 

I really hate it,

being the one who messed up

the one who ruined the relationship

the bad guy

the person someone vents about because I was someone they used to love

we all have weapons 

Today I saw my sister

the way she used to be—

not because she changed,

but because I remembered.

She was just there,

messy with noodles,

doing nothing special at all.

And somehow

this will be

the first 

and the last 

dance 

we'll share 

I'll be wearing pink

riding high on a childhood dream

waltzing 

like it's 1945

What happens if I fall in love

And no one's there to catch me

What if I give them the world

And they ask for the universe

What do I do if falling in love

Is like free-falling but not knowing where

Anger. 

Anger is a thing I am not proud of.

Yet it happens, where I cannot control what I say or do.

The day is soft and silent.

 Except for the quiet chirp of the crickets,

 and the lonely breeze. 

The pond has no animals to swim in its glory.

Loud and noisy

the 8th grade jury had taken over the partially empty classroom

with nothing to do

no work

(it was the second day after Thanksgiving break)

playing cards dancing through the air