The instructor said,


Go home and write
a page tonight
And let that page come out of you—
Then it ill be true


Will it be that easy?
White, weird and sixteen
Growing up in New York City
Where moments flicker by like a dream.
Middle school says life’s ahead
While city commutes blend together.
With brief respites to a Vermont house
Having nature’s bounty out the window.
Though daily, I have only a poor rectangle substitute.


Though I see the world in its immensity,
What I’ve seen are mere trips from my city.
All the while striving to find meaning in this chaos,
But ending up being lost in the sauce.


I enjoy gaming, idle chat and to humorously play
Though mostly with friends who live so far away.
But after I go to see them,
My memories slowly fade away.
They come to see me in my abode.
Concerts, cards and killer jokes
To pass the time between visits,
I listen to a multitude of books.
Something is lost with them on tape,
I'm told.
But convenience is something that it holds
During art classes full of concentration
Where I can get lost in the rhythm of their words
I seem to think I lose touch with conversation
But I think to save it
For those I love the most.
To my friends who are my brothers
I look to them-
To give me hope: For a life to still have meaning.
Some have it inherent,
Others shrivel up without it,
Some find it in responsibility,
But for me,
It is in those people whom I connect with the most.


This is my page for English 6.