My poem
This is the start to a crazy week. Here I am in class, my eyes burning and my heart racing; the question is why. Why don't I sleep, why can't I breathe, or love. I am so scared. Scared of losing my friends, of making new friends to leave them in a few months and start all over again. I feel the more I care, the more I am hurt, so if I don't care, I'm invincible. When people are taken away from you and you’re not ready for them to go, it definitely does a number on you brain. I miss my best friends...
To the captor of my heart- I miss secret conversations in the coat room about rebellions and intimacies. Fake flirting and tag team teacher harassment. I miss how you could make the hardest day palatable. I can never forgive myself for ending sour, and even more for never telling you how much I loved you. I should have said it every day, every time I got the chance. I hate that you were pushed aside when the planes hit; you were pushed out of the news. I miss you to the point of explosion but I cannot explode; like my emotions are filling a balloon that will never pop, and I hate that I never got to say goodbye.
To my sister and soul mate-I miss staying up until five a.m. making a book about our friendship to sleep through the next day and miss everything we were going to do. I miss the indentations in my arm after a scary movie and the perpetual soundtrack playing in our minds. I want the tree house back up in that tree. I want our midnight sneak-outs to meet boys back. There is no way for everything to return to normal, to the way they used to be. Twenty page notes from just first hour alone; endless quotes from the same movies that never get old. Our games, where your winning was the only rule.
“So, how was your first hour” The movies we watched so many times, the tape stopped working. Endless conversations on nothing and everything, with no limit on time. I hate our restrictions. I hate that I cannot write; when I take out a pen, no words flow, and the paper becomes so fragile in my mind, the slightest touch can break. I hate our restrictions, our time counted and recorded, our conversation short and pointless. Everything written, read by anyone who wants to. I miss our privacy, creeping out my window in the cold with nothing good to do, staring at the stars, hypothesizing about beginnings. I miss our wrestling and fighting, always ending in laughter and pillows, that I hated you when we first met, and visa versa. I miss you most of all, the presence who took my bed and claimed it as her own. As well as my father, my bedroom, and my dog. My sister, my soul mate, my truest friend. One day we will make it to that café, complaining about our children over a cigarette and a hot cup of coffee. I miss begging our parents for more times even when we have been with each other longer than with them.
I miss comfort.
My old life, when I used to laugh.
I miss when I used to smile.
To the captor of my heart- I miss secret conversations in the coat room about rebellions and intimacies. Fake flirting and tag team teacher harassment. I miss how you could make the hardest day palatable. I can never forgive myself for ending sour, and even more for never telling you how much I loved you. I should have said it every day, every time I got the chance. I hate that you were pushed aside when the planes hit; you were pushed out of the news. I miss you to the point of explosion but I cannot explode; like my emotions are filling a balloon that will never pop, and I hate that I never got to say goodbye.
To my sister and soul mate-I miss staying up until five a.m. making a book about our friendship to sleep through the next day and miss everything we were going to do. I miss the indentations in my arm after a scary movie and the perpetual soundtrack playing in our minds. I want the tree house back up in that tree. I want our midnight sneak-outs to meet boys back. There is no way for everything to return to normal, to the way they used to be. Twenty page notes from just first hour alone; endless quotes from the same movies that never get old. Our games, where your winning was the only rule.
“So, how was your first hour” The movies we watched so many times, the tape stopped working. Endless conversations on nothing and everything, with no limit on time. I hate our restrictions. I hate that I cannot write; when I take out a pen, no words flow, and the paper becomes so fragile in my mind, the slightest touch can break. I hate our restrictions, our time counted and recorded, our conversation short and pointless. Everything written, read by anyone who wants to. I miss our privacy, creeping out my window in the cold with nothing good to do, staring at the stars, hypothesizing about beginnings. I miss our wrestling and fighting, always ending in laughter and pillows, that I hated you when we first met, and visa versa. I miss you most of all, the presence who took my bed and claimed it as her own. As well as my father, my bedroom, and my dog. My sister, my soul mate, my truest friend. One day we will make it to that café, complaining about our children over a cigarette and a hot cup of coffee. I miss begging our parents for more times even when we have been with each other longer than with them.
I miss comfort.
My old life, when I used to laugh.
I miss when I used to smile.