Like a quote that I cannot remember
Like a song stuck right in my head
A fire once, now it’s an ember
Ash pages of words that were said.

Like a waft that drifts out of the kitchen
Just a hint of the past, so sweet.
I have scars that I know were once stitches
But I only recall summer heat.

Like water, like sand, to hold in your hand
To cradle when it just slips away.
It was art, it was home, not written but shown,
Now crumbled, broken pieces of clay.

I miss it!
What was it?
I miss what I lost!
It was warm, it was cold, it was piercing and soft.
It was something, just something
I feel calling me back.

I’d go to it now if I hadn’t lost track.

Heart beat-beat-beats quick
Like a drumbeat-beat-beat—or tick
Of the clock, sent speedily
From my chest cavity to my amygdala.

All neurons alive,
Just like a ******* fire,
I haven’t felt this
In a long, long time.

I thought all the good ones
Had deserted this place.

But here is a good one,
You.

Now they are all wondering
If, this time, I will reform
Or return to stumbling
Through life as if it’s a chore.

I hope I’ll be different,
To be rose-tinted, lovely.
I’ll reclaim lost innocence,
Locked, a key fitting snugly.

This, for love with conditions,
All this, to just make them proud.
I’m the newest edition,
Won’t you believe in me now?

As I write this poem,
Barrelling toward me are
College applications and
Dual enrollment classes.
Everybody dreads it but
For most of my life, I anticipated
Going to school with the
Hectic excitement that comes from
Imagination only a child can have.
Just like every year since
Kindergarten, I seriously
Lack confidence in
My ability to do what I
Need to do in order to
Overachieve as expected, but unlike
Previous years, I
Quiver with exhaustion earned by
Regurgitating information about
Systems that I will never
Truly need, but am tested on.
Useless, useless, useless,
Very, so very useless is how
We feel now, both the lessons and I.
Xanthan complexion, nauseous, nervous,
Yellow like the school buses I want to
Zap away, but climb aboard anyway.

I strain to chase my own inspiration
But ev’ry day there’s only artifacts
From my past eras, this lonely creation
Takes every fleeting feeling like a fact.

I seek, I seek, but rarely do I find
The abstract answer I was looking for;
You’d think you can’t get lost inside your mind
But sometimes you don’t own the parts you store.

It truly is a pit without a bottom
To stare the depths that lie within your heart
Because we underestimate the *****’s
Ability to turn pain into art.

Although it may appear to be a void
A writer’s well of words can’t be destroyed.

A porcelain doll
Shatters when she hits the floor
Only shards are left
So she mends herself again,
Again, again, and again.

Upon the gate
Words inscribed
"TRESPASSERS BEWARE"

Behind me mist recedes
Steep cliff revealed
At the brink I tense

My footsteps echo as
The gate looms larger
Damp black rocks under

Hits me the tortured's howls
As I step across the threshold
Legs steady, eyes set

Dense fog obscuring
Flame and body
The torch flickers

A winding path I follow
Patient and unwavering
With sword unsheathed

Cold wind announces my destination
Before me the chasm yawns
From my hands the flickering torch
Fell boucing down jagged rocks

I grasp the hilt of my sword
Light refracting off the blade
I hold it outward through the fog
Its light dimming by the minute
And await the terrors to come

Rumbling from the distance
The gate crashes down
Darkness falls upon this realm
The chilly wind picking up
All sounds coming to a halt
I close my eyes

Steps unsteady as I pick my way
Not knowing how many
Gasping I pull my feet back
As it touched empty space
Then tentatively I inch
Forward with a heavy breath
Until I stop at the very brink

For a minute staying still yet
With a lurch I slip into the chasm
Cloak billowing above me I
Flail around in a frenzy
I feel the cool hilt still and
Point the sword downwards
Taking a deep breath and
Bracing for the impact