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Hannah Christina Mar 2019
Cold wet toes hug the sandpaper edge
of the Tall Diving Board, a most terrible ledge
But the plastic and rusted beams buckle and creak
Along with your knees-- they are feeling quite weak.

Everything's swaying, the pool and the sky
Your hands both are shaking and you wonder why
You thought you could jump.  It all seems so silly
You thought you were brave, but up here, you know really

You're just like they said you would be.

You lift you foot trying to face off this dread
right over the edge of the board, but instead
of stepping off, you move backwards.  And then
your other foot follows it downwards again.

Inching back, and hanging your head from the shame,
your feet grip the grooves on the steps just the same

as the last time you thought you were brave.

Then you freeze, and you frown.  All the kids gathered on the ground
could not stop you with mocking from coming back down

But your mom, shouting out from the shade of the sides
speaks to you louder than fear or than pride
"You can do it, I know!"  and you manage a frown
and a stubborn resolve not to walk to the ground

but to swim!  And you struggle back up to the top
the gritty board scraping, the phrase "belly flop!"
taunting you from the children below; and your brow
is furrowed, your teeth clench--the moment is now!

A sniffle, slight stumble, the bending of knees,
You know you can show them--don't belly flop, please!
and you push, one last time-- any time you could stop
at the edge once again, at the diving board top

But you don't!



And it's over.  
A splash is your prize
your ears ring, your nose stings,

But you jumped off the diving board.

And now you can do it again.
Listen,
Why am I always "that friend", the one who is so easy to leave,
You know? That friend that makes the group an odd number
No one likes an odd number.
Listen,
I hate that I am constantly on the outside, I hate it
Why? I force myself into so many groups and friendships
I fall in love with people, they're my people
Listen,
I don't like fake but I surround myself around it, a people person
But why not? Why can't I be fake and be happy? They are
Its always I and we, never you no there can't be a you because if there's a you, then you win, and you can't win.
Listen,
I am "that friend", I have turned into everything I do not want to be
They won't notice, they haven't then and they won't now
If you're that friend, I see you, you are important, and you will find yourself, I did.
Hannah Christina Mar 2019
That weight in my head
like honey in a jar
Dripping pain against insides of my skull on whichever side I roll
It's heavy, but floating
like black and sluggish cloud
Dripping, dizzy
Caused by dehydration, maybe stress,
or else the tears I never cried are staring to solidify.
I had a headache.  It's better now.
Beauty is everywhere … isn’t it?
Truth ribbons twisted into knotted nests
housing corrupt filth and crusted lies
            remain deliberately ignored
to spoil further
and pollute the air with
            smog the color of rupees and shifty eyes

why let sleeping dogs lie?

too many can crowd your Mind
steal the breath from your eroding lungs
press against the brittle glass of
            moral compasses
                        and shatter
            rights and wrongs
blur lines between
            honest ambition and power addiction
            use and abuse
            the lower classes and
                        “untouchable” garbage scavengers plastered
                                    with muck and grime
                                    too filthy for water to clean
                        deprived even
                                    of the life of a sleeping dog

absolute power corrupts absolutely
Power is not love
            whether you are crooked slumlord of Annawadi
            or All-Holy Divine Servant to God Himself
and neither is pride
Love does not burn tongues
            except when it is not
Holding me with his right hand
and scarring me with his left
is not even half-love

sleeping dogs don't deserve to lie
It is my universe to disturb
They will bite me but
the crushed Purple Hibiscus
            underneath full bellies
will unfurl their petals and rise up
again.
Written as a synthesis of and response to Purple Hibiscus by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie and Behind the Beautiful Forevers by Katherine Boo
  Feb 2019 Hannah Christina
Lauren
By. Lauren

I have so many things to write,
But
I'm afraid to write.
Because,
I'm afraid to feel.
And since
I'm afraid to feel,
I'm afraid to love.
And
I'm stuck with the same situation again.
Because,
I have so many things to write,
But
I'm afraid to write.
Hannah Christina Feb 2019
"Praise be,"
I whisper with unclean lips
The blood and tears held barely back
"Oh, save,"
I plead, with nothing but dust to give
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