I am stuck in a school gymnasium. Between Halloween dances and award ceremonies. Between art showcases and poetry readings. I am the boy giving the girl a plastic rose on Valentine’s Day and the one sitting sullenly for not having done so earlier. I am the science fair exhibition where my peers brag about their brightly colored ribbons. I am the girls gossiping and also the ones eavesdropping. I wake up in my childhood bed but my feet touch the end. I keep trying to fall back asleep; I’m tired, I’m so, so tired. But the sun is a painfully punctual alarm clock and my curtains aren’t that good at their job.
About the Creator
daphne gray
just a girl in this world who thinks a lot and writes a lot and some of it makes sense and some of it doesn't. enjoy nevertheless.
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People watching
I am not happy with my body. I am not happy with my mood. I am made less happy by my family, sometimes. I go out on my balcony only to smoke. I listen to music to drown out the thoughts but they are my own, and I cannot escape them. I write poetry like I am something special. I watch the cars drive down my street and I hide my cigarette. I try to be so bold and brave but I don’t want people to see me like this. I turn on 'dark mode' so the light doesn’t reflect on my face. I don’t want to be seen. My neighbors are packing their cars across from me. There is one star in the sky and a spiderweb in my near corner. I watch the ant roaming near my foot but I flick it when it gets too close. I feel sick again. Maybe I should stop. I should go inside and take my shower. I should take my shower, appreciating how I’m home alone. Alone with my thoughts, my music, my mom’s cigarette, and myself. I just want the time to pass. I’d love to be okay again. I can’t tell anyone I’m not. Telling people the truth changes everything I’ve suffered through lying about. I’d like to disappear into the sun. I like the cool breeze that the nightfall brings. I feel too hot, too often. I feel too hot right now; too hot and too sick. I am always sick. “I’m just tired.” I stroke my own cheek and I brush my own hair. I scratch my back and I sit in the shower until my fingers prune. I’m making a mess of these ashes and I’ll have to clean them up again myself. My hair will smell like cigarettes and so will my phone. I will feel sick when I go to bed and lay my hands under my head. I imagine a life different than mine. Any. A fourth car has pulled into my neighbor's driveway. Two men come out, they walk around, they open and close doors. They walk in and out of the house.
By daphne gray3 years ago in Poets
How, Too
Many people wonder how, too. You are not alone, and I am an expert. I will teach you how, too! First, you need to remit a small application fee and fill out an application describing the nature of your financial situation and how often payments will be made, as this will have great bearing on how well I teach you how, too.
By Harper Lewis5 days ago in Fiction
Comments (1)
Captures high school so we’ll