17 February

Today is a rainy day
and I'm tired. Tired of it all.
Tired of the mud, the yells...
The petty rules determining this life.
My eyes droop, blocking words
from entering my skull.
     (Or exiting.)

The weak light from outdoors
makes the floors shine
    (Or is that the fluorescents?
    It's hard to tell).
I look at the trophy case: 20 trophies
with emblazoned forgotten names look back,
vigilantly protecting a cause I do not know.

The pictures of the past glare at me to be in class.

I can't.
I just... Can't.

I'll sit here
on the border of the weak and fluorescent light,
curl into myself like a turtle,
become a forgotten about name
behind a wall of glass.

stops

How can there ever be a shortage?!

     (Thinks one

     Thinks many)

It'll never go away

For as long as I live.

     (Think the young

     Think the old)

It's wondrous and large...

     It's mine. 

         (Think them all)

Flake by flake, the snow blackens

Tree by tree, the leaves weaken

Country by country, the initiative

     stops

A Glimpse

A glimpse back to the past
in the form of a letter.
A paid fare back into time
     Keep ticking forward
Oh how times have changed.
How trivial it all seems.
     How important
     For its time.
There's something about moving away
that doesn't need boxes.
It needs a good-bye
     It's final.
     No matter what, the old times
     have died.
Yellowing envelopes with forgotten destinations
hold ramblings of yesteryear
     A bit of me
     I had let go.

The Straw is Itchy

Using as little words as possible, we were to put the reader into a specific moment from our childhoods. This one still bothers my sister. 

Under my hands, the straw itches. It itches under my pants too, making crawling difficult. A strand moves up my too small jeans. I want to itch it but then I'll lose my cousins and the people behind me'll catch up and the halloween pop ups will eat me. Round the corner, more lights. Glow sticks. Illuminating a Dracula surrounded by pumpkins. I crash into the straw wall, sending more down to make me itchy. Then he speaks. He speaks in his automated Dracula voice. He laughs at me. I don't laugh back. I can't breathe will all this straw. The tunnel is so small and dark. Minus the glow sticks. A green one bobs in front or me. SARAH! I start crawling again and the straw keeps on itching. I'm so cramped. Why isn't this ending?! My windbreaker scrapes against the straw wall as I swerve around. What's that noise? Dracula? There's no one around. I take a deep straw filled breath and turn the next corner in pursuit of a fluorescent green blob. 

Was She Either?

The moon is full tonight. He could tell because of its reflection in the small perfect lakes of her eyes. He could also see it in the precise angle of her chin that she held aloft, not letting it reattach to her neck like she often does while sleeping. The serenity of the night around her was portrayed through her fingertips, softly playing with the grass under her relaxed frame. She gazed at the pre-dawn sky and he could see all the thoughts race around her head like the million shooing stars he has never seen. The way her toes tickle each other, seemingly separate bodies from their united being of her...
The moon was full and the night was ending just as soon as it started. The million stars and thoughts became less than brilliant and he saw the frown spread across her luscious face, charcoal lines in the sand. He wanted to touche her, keep her in this safe place of dreams and calm.
But he couldn't. He wasn't quite real.
But was she either?

Wait Another Day

At the corner of forever and today I wait.
Wait for the eternal stoplight to change.
The wait is enjoyable
     The hesitation comes of deciding which way to turn.

I'll just wait for the next one.

It switches back and I'm still standing
     Anxiety fades, turns a different corner.

Looking left towards forever, it stretches into
my hopes and dreams.

     An ice cream vendor is offering vanilla swirls.

To my right, today looks frightening.
     The ice cream is offered further down
     the street, closer to the next corner.

I close my eyes

     Inhale.

     Exhale.

Turn right.

Forever will wait another day.
     I've already been waiting.
     It can wait some more.

Gumballs

A thousand coloured gumballs crammed into a
tiny space.
A thousand perfect spheres behind the glass
beyond my reach.
Sure the price is simple
     (a nickel here, a quarter there,
     blue tinted tongue on Monday, red on Wednesday)
But I don't want to pay for the destruction of their beauty.
I want them to remain perfect, complete,
thrilling all who look at them.

(They don't taste that great either)

A thousand perfectly tinted gumballs
concealing their disappointment so
those who only look are satisfied.