Writing

The shoes

The ones I got for Christmas in 8th grade

The shoes I wore every day 

Even when they started to rip

And were no longer new lookiing

The shoes I wore to every event 

I remember the day you picked me out,  
A shimmer on your wrist, young and proud.  
The world was bright; you were full of dreams,  
With laughter and plans bursting at the seams.  

People always ask me, 

Why don’t you want to leave? 

They ask this because everyone 

      wants 

winter's coming on fast — 
better chop enough wood. 

pluck the last fruits of the harvest — 
then say goodnight to the garden, 
resting under a blanket of leaves and love. 

I'm chasing that feeling 
I lost so long ago 
The feeling when the sun would set 
And a smile would appear on my face

Rumors. 

They suck.

I had one about me

That I was dating a girl that I was just friends with

But according to middle school boys that means that we are