I keep this notebook in my
lap, knowing
in a second I will have more words
more poems to write
about my crazy life.
About me, and the numerous
Emotions I have
in my 13-year-old body.
I hear the ice machine rattle,
shaking it's fist, saying
"Why are you so full of
poems tonight?
You are no Marzena Sowa,
I don't care if your blankets
look like strawberry jam,
and you are in love with the idea
of a crush,
and the clattering of your
computer keeps you awake,
go
to
sleep!"