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Gillian Drake Jan 2016
There's half a sandwich in my baggie,
I run with it around the playground and
I'm getting weird looks because..
I'm 23
and somehow I find it much more amusing than nerve wracking
because when I wrack my brain to find answers
all I can think about is running around
my old elementary school play ground.
Maybe just maybe that's why I laugh like santa who had just finished
his rounds for he year and
maybe I laugh like a man that just won a billion dollars,
because I know when I go back to work the next day
I know I cannot laugh this loud
so loud I shed tears of joy, no
when I go back I will shed tears of boredom if there is such a thing.
Sitting at a desk is killing me, but I guess in the end
I've been dying all along.
"Sit quietly at your desk until the bell rings"
"Ask before you use the restroom"
"Finish every thing on your recycled tray"
Well let me tell you there are none such rules on the play ground
I can run and scream, and
I can finish the other half of this sandwich
when I **** well want to.
persona piece describing someone who's more than a little fed up with their life
Gillian Drake Jan 2016
Maybe what I need to write
isn't something that reflects how I feel
but rather
how the world around me is beautiful even
when I am recovering from crippling embarrassment while
I was the center of attention.
How there's sunlight coming into the room at such an angle
that it creates a heavenly glow across the walls,
or maybe how much wearing sweatpants in bed make the experience
so sweet.
How a sad song makes me happy because
it takes away my anger
and replaces it with serenity.
How there's a walk one step out of the door to where ever i go that
keeps my head clear
and reminds me how even when it's freezing its a gorgeous day
because I'm living in it, not dying.
Writing about how beautiful this world can be
when I can't find that beauty..
it's therapeutic.
Gillian Drake May 2015
It's a hot day,
So hot that the sweat on my back
evaporates before it really has a chance to stink.
My only true friend in this feverish heat
is not my broken AC,
or my broken spirit,
but this popsicle in my hand.
When I was a smaller person
with a smaller brain,
and a bigger heart,
all I wanted was the flavor.
Now I am older, smarter, and unfortunatly
more in tune with the heat.
All I want now is this icy pop in my hand,
and maybe a fan too.
Gillian Drake May 2015
He was a tragic story at eighteen.
Peering out of the door of his home,
with half of what could be fathomed as a life on his back,
he started his journey.

The Traveler,
he’s been to the peaks of the mountains
to the dangerously deep crevasses of canyons.
He’s almost died a… more than a few times.
He steps with a sort of sluggish mindset.
He doesn't need to move with what his teachers once called “purpose”
because he’s always on time.
With his life on his back
and large thoughts on his mind
he might throw out his hip,
moving too fast, like the young folks do.
These things never did stop him from gettin’ down,
his moves are new,
unlike his body.
Maybe that’s why he simply nods
when those young’uns challenge him.
He saves his money for things he absolutely needs,
pens, pencils, paper… and toilet paper occasionally.
The bag on his back is 40 pounds,
most of its contents is the words he had written.
Containing a few mementos from the land
of hot suns and early mornings,
he travels.
He doesn't grow hair on his sun kissed bald head,
at the moment,
guess it liked the south so much it stayed there.
He’s homeward bound today.
With an image of his beautiful baby in his wife’s hands
and a white picket fence in his mind,
he found himself at the same door he escaped at the age of eighteen.

He was a tragic story at eighteen.
Peering out of the door of his home,
His whole life on his back now
he’s ended his journey.
Now he’s home,
and so is his hair.
Gillian Drake Mar 2015
They made her a quaint painting,
well mannered,
she never spoke out of turn.
She granted herself a wish,
she only wanted to be picturesque
waning to the wayside of  mannerisms
she gave herself 'wiggle room'
she was a sight
not worth seeing.
Cracked porcelain faces,
she saw herself in them.
It took time to find her way to shore
but when she did
and stood on her own two feet,
she was more vivid and brilliant
than any quaint little painting.
Someone once told me that Christianity gave him the idea of restriction. Kinda wrote my thoughts on how being a poster child or a pinup girl isn't the point. Being and knowing who you are and knowing what you want is important. You can gain strength through obedience but also from being free as who you are rather than being made.
Gillian Drake Mar 2015
It filled me
to the brim,
or so it seemed
for soon I was still hungry
for another story.
And so I fed on everything that my heart desired.
and picked out the
For there is nothing more satisfying than
being hungry
for more.
Gillian Drake Mar 2015
When all you can see is
the up and up
and everything
seems to have color.
Where frustration happens when
you don't understand why you
don't like that person
don't want to talk to someone who is looking
down at the feet
that carry an cope with them.
Things are looking up for you girl,
but you've got that voice in your head that says
'What if I only fall from this all time high'
Well girl the truth is you will face
Ups and Downs
and you will face
but Girl you have the power to empower the people around you,
and girl you didn't even realize they were the ones
your friends,
made that all time high a reality.
Keep being astounded at how amazing people are, girl
and keep writing those
Ups and Downs
because it's good to reflect on your troubles
and not have your troubles reflect you.
Thinking about how things have been lonely and now things are just really simply enjoyable. I feel like I'm spoiling you guys with this second poem, but I really needed to write this one down.
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