shivers roll over me, like that poem in third grade,
about the noises of the ocean like a dog’s bark

my eyes roll back, like that movie in fifth grade,
about the devil being casted out of that boy

hands gripping, like that documentary in sixth grade,
about the person hanging off a cliff, a foot away from death

body arching, like that class in seventh grade,
about the Roman’s building archs in their empire

sounds being heard, like that music i listened to in eighth grade,
about drugs leading to an escape, alcohol not being poison

if i down a few more, will i be free? like our country says,
in the ancient text written by Mr. Washington? will i be
voided from the pain, like those prescription pills mommy
takes? will there be a new beginning like all those Disney
princesses had? or will i live through all this suffering like
Ghandi? come through a leader? painless and harmless?
or is this all a lie to conceive that thinking equals maturing,
or like blooming, only the beautiful are devine

cole 2/6/14