Inspired by Shel Silverstien’s “Hungry Mungry”
They’re coming. They’ll get me.
They’ll get me, and hit me, and make me bleed my young blood that looks just like theirs,
With skin that looks just like theirs, but something in me’s different.
As different as my mothers before me.
It doesn’t matter.
They’re coming.
Their dark boots clomp down the hall, begging to bash my ribs, or my face, or my shins, or--
--They’re here. They take their fists and their feet and their words, taking turns finding the soft flesh
Covered by my backpack and my shoes and my clothes and my bones.
They found me, and they’ll beat me, and they’ll **** me--
That’s what I think until--
--I change.
I grow. My shins and my fingers and my skull and my toes.
My body elongates, it stretches and lengthens.
I’m still bleeding and bleeding and still bruising and bleeding.
But the blows stop.
They back away, at least I think so, but my body pushes them farther and farther,
I’m pressed against the ceiling, pressed against the lockers, until I feel them give, and I’m free.
I break through the ceiling, I break past the rain, I--
--Stand up. My head skims the clouds, misting my face. I feel myself drift away from this place,
As my head reaches farther, my neck, my chest, my stomach, my legs.
Trees break beneath my feet.
They crack and splinter, just like the houses, just like the schools.
The ground gets farther and farther away, my feet so big they spread across the land and the seas.
I’m blowing up like a balloon, like Violet-*******-Beauregard, from that book I read in in the second grade.
I push back against mass under my feet,
Let them feel the fire, let them feel the heat.
Earth is flying too close to the sun, as I grow, and I grow, and I grow.
The stars drift around me, popping blistering holes in my skin as I grow and push against them too.
I stick my hand in Jupiter, in Neptune, in Saturn.
I crush Mars like a dirt clod inside my fist, and slap nebulas together with a flick of the wrist.
I am the sun, and I am the storm, and the wind and the waves,
From the place I was birthed--
--The place I was birthed? Where was I? Where’s that?
I look to my feet and see naught but a speck,
I do a summersault to examine it closer--
--Not an inch from the Sun, my home withers and dies.
But still I grow, and I grow, and I grow.
Earth is now too small to hold
Still I grow, and I grow, and I grow.
I see so many things from here, but I shan’t get closer, for fear they’ll disappear.
But that’s not enough, still I grow, and I grow, and I grow.
Pushing them away like so many I know.
I hope and I dream for this ride to stop, still I grow, and I grow and I grow.
I grow, and I grow, and I grow.
Hi! I wrote this a while ago, and it's supposed to be a spoken word, but I'm still learning this whole thing. Thanks!