Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Posts Tagged ‘school’

After School

“After school”

used to mean

running up the hill

to melodic chimes—

sharing a slushy,

matching blue tongues.

 

My mom always gave me

five more minutes

in the “ducky playground.”

There was a broken duck seat

attached to the ground

with a spring.

I sat on it,

rocking it back and

forth, side to side,

trying to break it

more.

 

My best friend told me secrets

before we slid down

the biggest slide,

and we always liked

the same boys. I hated that

but loved her,

and we wrote bad songs

and stayed up late watching

sad movies.

 

Now “after school” means

401k plans, an unpaid lunch hour,

and early dentist appointments.

Resumes catered to jobs catered

to people catered to me, but

never catered to you.

If you aren’t full time,

you are wasting time,

and there is no time

for you and me

to talk about what we want.

Never say

what a company can do for you.

What can you do for them?

What can you do for me?

 

Read Full Post »

You are someone that I’ll miss fast,
before the door shuts.
You have always made me feel like
I have something to say.

You are the inside of a typewriter–
has to be open
for the ink to be changed.
But after,
tucked away and private–
cat-like and half loner.

Your drawers and pockets are filled
with conversation starters
and you collect abandoned hammers
on the side of the road
like they are lost people,
or pieces of yourself.

To me you are not someone who
rides a bike or writes or paints,
teaches, loves life.
The reality of you is not that
obvious.

Fingers, keys, and ink make a deal
to find meaning.
Even with all the noise and mistakes
and quirks
you never stopped.

So I will never
stop.

Read Full Post »

Buried under this snow
is the day I will be leaving
and won’t push open
that heavy door
that those broken steps
lead up to.
I won’t walk
up that ramp,
leading to his office—
walls covered in paintings
like in a living room,
and a cleared off desk.
Typewriter next to him.
I sat in the same chair
every time.

The benches that I found
refuge in will no longer
be my benches,
but they will remember
my warmth,
and the sound of my typing—
those essays and stories
they heard for hours
in a form of Morse Code.

I wonder how long
it will take for my name
to just be a name
and no longer my face
or voice.
My poems might take on
new meanings.
Or I might take on
a new meaning.
But I am not sure that
I want to find one.

Read Full Post »

Photo credit: amanid.blogspot.com

Photo credit: amanid.blogspot.com

“It is so hard to leave–

until you leave.

And then it is

the easiest

goddamned thing

in the world,”

author John Green

says in his novel,

Paper Towns.

 

Thinking about

leaving can be

the hardest

part.

Like leaving

high school

and my first

job

and old

relationships

and throwing

away things

that I’ve saved

for way too long

but thought I

would some day

have a use for.

 

Over thinking

is heartbreaking.

But when the actual

act of leaving

is worse than

thinking about it,

maybe

there is something

that shouldn’t

be let go.

Maybe there is

a way around it.

Maybe there

is a way to

bring people

with you.

Read Full Post »

Every

single day

in middle school

I’d make my mom

promise me

that everything

would be okay,

and I wouldn’t

leave her alone

until she looked

at me and said

“I promise.”

 

She was right.

 

I had my

first kiss at

a YMCA

dance

when I was

11-years-old.

It was so fast

that our faces

smashed together

and I threw my

head back

laughing,

redness exploding

across my face

like the adrenaline.

The song playing

was “I Don’t

Wanna Miss a Thing”

by Aerosmith.

 

Life is fast.

 

I laid on the floor

with my cat Tiger

the night we had

to bring him

to the vet

and leave him

there forever.

I curled my

body around his

and imagined

the police

stopping by

to do a

chalk outline of us.

I closed my eyes

and tried to make

the shape of us

become

permanent.

 

I still see it.

 

One afternoon

when I was sitting

up in

my parent’s bed

alone

I realized that

I was

in love.

I held my

stomach,

wanting to keep

it safe

in some internal

pocket.

 

But I knew it would

spill out.

 

I screamed

and cried

when I found

out that

I needed

glasses.

I knew that

it would make

the bullying

worse.

 

I was right.

 

But it’s okay

now.

It always

ends up being

okay.

 

And in the end

you will know

that you really

made it

when you are

more than

okay.

 

Read Full Post »

My Success

Photo credit: www.123rf.com

Photo credit: http://www.123rf.com

After I pass in

my exam,

I tell my professor I am not

good at taking tests.

He says, “Really?”

Then pauses,

and says,

“Hey well,

you are good

at writing

poems,

yeah?”

I laugh,

not really

knowing if

it was a question

or what to say back.

So basically now

I am left with

the thought

“Sure, I am going

to fail the test,

But at least

I can write

poems.”

So

Hey,

If I drop out of college,

Never get a career,

Never move out,

Never talk to anyone ever

again,

Never do anything

for anyone ever

again,

Lock myself away

and slowly deteriorate

into the darkness,

then at least well,

Hey,

I can write

poems.

Read Full Post »