I have been told
To let it go
As if my past
Is something I'm hanging on to.

They got it wrong.

If my past could be
Thrown against rocks,
Against bricks and shattered
And disposed of,

That'd be okay with me.

Instead, it sticks
Like honey or glue
That covers clawed hands
Gnarled and grabbing.

It is a thing alive
And breathing and fighting.
A parasite and I am its host.
I'm not hanging on to my past.

It's hanging on to me.

Classrooms are what you make of them
Empty faces, cotton filled ears
The spark of something new in the eyes of a few
The glaze of sleep in most.
Anticipating the day they are freed.

One day.

Professors who do their best not to reflect the boredom
That they sense thick as tar in the closed up space.
Windows shut, blinds down.
No distractions,
They hope their pupils make something of themselves.

One day.

One girl in the corner jotting down notes,
Too slow before they're erased.
She holds on to imagination as much as she can,
It stretches thin as it flees from her.
She hopes she can make it strong again.

One day.

The boy in the back always has his head down,
Never fully present,
Never to be whole again.
Loss is a bullet none can dodge.
He hopes the wound will heal.

One day.

And the ******* her laptop before class begins.
Typing what she sees in the guise of prose
Desperately hoping the creativity she lost,
Can find it's way back to her.

One day.

My favorite time of morning,
Is when darkness yields to dawn,
And the light of daybreak signals,
That it's time to carry on.

As gentle as a mother's touch,
It beckons us to wake.
For daylight brings new life,
And wide-eyes bliss and risks to take.

As some of us awaken,
Many more are lulled to sleep,
And we among the living,
Have some promises to keep.

We haven't been here very long,
Still childlike at heart,
And holding onto hope of something more,
Another start.

And so we wait for morning,
And seek shelter from the night.
As brave as we pretend we are,
We're creatures of the light.

My muddled mind makes quite a mess
Of thoughts and crumbling words
I think I know what’s going on
But every sentence goes unheard

And after empty conversations
My mind just empties out
And every thought I thought I had
Escapes and I must go without

I wonder what would happen
If I just decide to change
My mind and heart and soul and life
And maybe then I’d rearrange

My thoughts which fly disorganized
And will not let me be
I wonder if I changed all that
What would be left of me?