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 Sep 2018
Anya
It's a funny feeling,
to have a conversation
with a field hockey ball

It wasn't even a conversation,
really
Mostly I just gave it a baleful glare
For being hit straight towards the cage
And stopping
RIGHT BEFORE IT

It truly didn't affect me in any way,
simply my inner angst
at my poor performance
being taken out on this innocent round
piece of plastic

Mostly, for eluding me
Yet, still stopping,
not by my efforts
But by the lack of force applied to it

It could have gone in
Or,
It could have been blocked

Instead,
it chose to rest
just before the finish line
taunting me,
Proving to me,
that my effort is completely unnecessary
That,
even an invisible entity
known as air resistance + friction
can do my job for me

Oh,
By now you're probably wondering
who I am in this scenario
Considering,
If I was an offender,
attempting to shoot
I'd desire the ball to cross
And I'd push it in
rather than subject it to my resentment

You, see
I,
am the goalie
 Sep 2018
Anya
When I was young enough to remember
my dad told be not to be one
an "also ran"

It was only when I was older
I understood
...
She is a swimmer who has been to state
I also swam
...
She's gotten second place in piano state
I also played
...
She's the varsity goalie and incredibly athletic
I'm also a goalie
...
He's our debate team co-head and one of our best
I also debate
...
She's amazing at writing poetry
I also write
...
Her squash team got second in the state
I also play squash
...
She was the lead of the musical
I was also in the musical
...
I could keep going
But I think you get the point
...
So what,
if I've tried everything
do everything
know everything?

I have to find
that one thing I'll be the best at
...
...
...
I can't always be an also ran
 Sep 2018
Anya
Don’t cross the yellow line
She says
I do just that

Look in ALL the mirrors before reversing
She rehashes
I glance at one

Put on a signal before you turn
She insists
I turn without a pause

Full stop at the stop sign
She stresses
I slow down a fraction

Be careful with right turns
She warns
I nearly crash a curb

What will it take you to ever heed me???!
She demands in hopelessness

A week later, there’s an accident on 74th street
She gets her answer.
 Sep 2018
Anya
The guy with the rainbow Afro
Till you get to know him
And he becomes
Your best friend
Adam
People are given labels, treated as almost alien creatures till you get to know them.
 Sep 2018
Anya
A certain little mermaid
wished to have feet
to walk
to run
to dance
perfectly to the beat

A certain gingerbread
knew his feet were key
to run
run
run
and escape tragedy

When a certain princess fled
She would have never seen her beloved again
As the clock finished stricking twelve
****
****
****
if not for her feet
whose slipper led the prince right to her street

A certain large monster
is known for its abnormally large feet
and when one sees its footprint
they can either give a
shriek
shriek
shriek
Or they can flee and not become mincemeat

So you see feet are important
very much so
Whether in fairytales or real life
They allow us to go to and fro
So next time you consider what you’re grateful for
Take a though for your feet
although real life’s isn’t a video game
they are your cheat
 Sep 2018
Anya
Many people worry
about whether
They are too insignificant, unnoticed, not included
Or too noticed, too many obligations
Too many expectations
Yet when you think
A city
within a state
Within a country
Within a continent
WITHIN AN EARTH
WITHIN A GALAXY
On and on and on
...
Or the other way
A STATE
A CITY
A neighborhood
A school
a friend group
a best friend
Why can’t you make your own bubble?
As big as you want it
Or small and closed tight
You can’t complain for lack of people or space either way
considering our humongous galaxy
And if it fails
Move
Look for new
OUR WORLD IS HUGE AND YOU HAVE THE FREEDOM TO FORM YOUR OWN BUBBLE
 Sep 2018
Maya
how to have a good
haiku: make sure you do not
run out of sylla-


****.
 Sep 2018
Ann
keep your eyes closed love.

           e     t      
       m           i
    o                 m
s                        e  
                            s     all you have to
                                                                ­
                                                                ­ l                  to is what the sound
                                                           ­      i            n
                                                  ­                s           e
                                                               ­          t

                                                              ­                               v
                                                               ­                         a        e
                             ­                                          of the  w               s
                                                               ­                                       
                         ­                                                                 ­            tells  you
                                                                ­                                        to do.
"Keep your eyes closed, love. sometimes all you have to listen is to what the sound of the waves tells you to do."

When I was much younger, beaches were my second favorite places. I still love watching waves as they go by, crashing against each other and the whole process repeating all over again.
 Sep 2018
Heather McCorkle
I wish I could hold the night. It doesn't stay long enough. I hardly get a taste of it. I'm stuck in my room, trying to sleep. But I can't. If my bed had wings, I'd fly into the night and I'd see the world without colour and imagine I was the one painting it.
                                                        -What would you use?
I'd improvise. I'd use words. Words have colour, you know. Voices. Thoughts. Music.
                                                      -What type of music?
The type of music that makes you feel life is worth living. That somehow, everything has a place, even when it doesn't.

I sometimes wonder about the clouds. They have everything they could ever imagine - nutrients, beauty, a breathtaking view on the top of the world. They're friends with the stars. Yet, they wander. Hopelessly. The sky is different every day because the clouds keep on moving, floating to nowhere. And even though it has it all, it begins to sink as it replenishes the ground with it's rain.
                                                      -You're a strange one.
I used to think so.

                                    -Do you think they'll ever write a book about us?
That depends. Who are you?
                                                    -Wouldn't you like to know.
Are you my conscience?
                                                 -If I were, you'd know it.
I don't understand.
                                           -You will, in time. tell me more.
I'm afraid I've run out of things to say.
                                     -No you haven't. You never could, as long as the things you say are written.

Do you know how I danced? I twirled and twirled without stopping. The crickets was my music. The greenest grass you've ever seen was my carpet. I danced until the moon slid into the sky. I danced, barefoot.
                                                 -And you laughed.
I don't remember anyone being there.
                                        -But I was. I admired how you danced like you didn't care if others were watching.

I usually care.
                                         -You didn't then.

Feel the wind! I'm gonna travel it one day!
                                           -You already are.
Is it bad that I've already begun to craft my memoirs? I think of them at night. I'm too young to die, but a part of my spirit wonders if that's true.
                                         -You will never die.
Easy for you to say. I'm sure you're immortal, right?.... No response? Well, if I die, it will be from writing myself out until I fade.
                                       -No. You'd die if you didn't write yourself out.

Who are you anyway?
                                      -.....
I wrote this on a random summer night. Who do you think the "nobody" is? Comment below!
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