Margaret S.

the beach 
a theme written about so often
that it may seem overdone
boring, even
who doesn’t like the beach?

but the beach is so much more
than poems 
so much more than pictures 
it is a feeling 

Running through the woods, away from it all
Her feet pounding like drums and her heart beating a fast tempo
Away from all the noise, from the music in her head that was so hard to escape

Red is, in one word, intense
It is chic red dresses and vermillion lips and roses 
It’s the start of the rainbow and the blushing cheeks of the easily embarrassed
It’s the sunset on a scorching day in July

Sometimes I wish people would just insult me, flat-out. 
Not tiptoeing around their comments and weaving them
into looks and gestures

Sometimes I wish I could scream, 
“Just tell me you don’t like me” 

You wake up early on Saturday, the windows dark like your father’s coffee. It tastes bitter but exciting, like sour candy with a hint of sweetness in the back of your mouth.

She doesn’t hold the door for everyone
It makes her nervous
She won’t compliment strangers
It gives her too much anxiety
And she won’t offer over and over to clean up
Because she hates making a scene
But once you get to know her