life fantastic.

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I’m in no way against most drugs. I have a pretty open mind about that kind of thing. I’m not making you wrong for doing them. I also just can’t fit them into my life right now without putting all I’ve worked for at risk. 

So when I say I can’t buy from you, don’t fucking talk down to me like I’m less of an interesting person because I have priorities. 

It’s already 6:16pm, I’ve taken multiple exams today, I’m tired, I’m sick, and I have to finish my thesis presentation.

But you know, thankfully the police blew up a meth lab in the motel across the street from my school and right before I reached my car, I got called back because we’re in lockdown mode. Currently locked in the backroom of the Law Magnet office with 30 other people and no tissues. 

F.

It has apparently forgotten its second main function, which would be to alert me as to when its first main function, storing my mail, has been activated. I had a good three or four messages in that low-preformance lady of the night. Two of which were answering my questions (when I thought I’d gotten ignored) and two of which made me wiggle my butt in my chair. Out of happiness. I do that. 

ANYWAY, again, whomever that gorgeous introductory paragraph came from, get up here on this stage. I want to throw roses at you.

I think that I have a good mind once you get me thinking

While I’m thinking,

I think I could write better poetry if you did not understand me.

As most places that outstay their welcome in my life, that’ll wait for me to kick them out before they’ll kick me out, that exist monotonously seemingly only to activate my traveling imagination, the townhouse on Inwood and Forest is better appreciated from outside its occupation of my outstanding boredom.

Of course, not every moment was dull there. But when a palace becomes a prison, it is remembered as either one or the other. Not permanently- the walls go from sunshine yellow to a puke-y beige based on the day I mentally reach for the keys. 

At night, the place was easier to escape than where I lived before and where I live now. The sub-streets of the townhouse complex led to miniature parks and a basketball hoop or two and a pool. Up and over the high stone wall that gave the whole place the feel of an isolated kingdom, Forest ran with traffic and emergency vehicles. The soft purr of spaced out engines during the smaller hours of the morning invited me outside to wander a mile or two up Forest with soft love songs echoeing in my brain. This sounds pathetic (and was), but heartbreak enourages walking, wallowing, distraction, and pretending your life is a movie. I’d slip out sometimes and dance to dragging jazz music under the dull sub-street lights- at a time late enough for all inhabitants of the complex to be asleep, but with the slim possibility that a pair of peeking eyes would notice me through their identical kitchen windows. I secretly hoped I’d meet someone important in that way. They’d wiggle out of the smallest crack they could make of their back-sliding door and sit on the curb and watch me until the song finished. Then we’d talk later into the night and we would agree that we should meet again the next night. I was just very lonely, but imagining the scene incessantly kept me company when I couldn’t hop into a getaway car of a friend or consult/fight/flirt/make terrible decisions with my past.

I moved there with my family and hoped that the unfamiliar space would let me leave my sensitivity, lack of motivation, and sense of captivity back at my childhood home. Here was a new, bare abode- it could be molded to anything I wanted it to be. I didn’t have any negative memories to associate it with, so it was a new beginning in the middle of an already old and played-out year. In the end, when I walked back into my renovated house, I was regreeted and almost bowled over with the hope of newness once again. Settings can change, but you can’t escape how you feel about your life that easily. I still feel trapped on Sundays and my drive still fluctuates terribly. But even taking into account that what I said in the sentence before last is a personal truth, my setting is about to be altered in ways it never has before. Definite happiness with where I am is not guranteed, but I have more of an opportunity to reach peace of mind with the freedom and mobility I am soon to be granted in college. I’m reminescing about periods of time like my townhouse days in almost a fond way- like a grandmother looks at a small child that isn’t her granddaughter. It’s because this major shift that has yet to occur is permeating me in a way so that I feel seperate and detached from my self-created/created limitations/burdens in highschool. So I don’t take it personally anymore.

Here’s to graduating from school and my past in order to move forward with my life.

I wish to open my eyes springing from the sheets,

Sprinting to meet the light before it decides to creep

In through my shutters.

Soft fingers of day fall

refracting off of empty folds.

Can I have my mute alarm clock lambasting from the electrical socket 

because my scampering feet have tripped upon it

In my eagerness

I wish to be grazing the ground with fingertips

as I trace yesterday’s footprints

Nothing but wind whipped golden wheat 

Ignoring scrapes when climbing trees

Feeling the tickle of their falling leaves

Praising yet defeating gravity.

Enjoy the dawn of living, do not mourn sleep’s end;

One should never be reluctant when welcoming a friend.