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Sara Elliott Sep 2013
Get up.
Complain.
Eat breakfast-
no.  
You're a teen, you don't have time for breakfast.

Go through the torture of a school-day.  
Feeling self-conscious and fake.
Knowing that your bell's only five minutes longer.
But you have three more waiting for you at the door.
You're taking that math test you thought you were prepared for-
no.
You're a teen, you don't get to have good grades.

You're home.
Eat the first bit of food you've had all day, why?
Because you forgot your lunch money again.
Stupid brain.  
You should have hid your report card better.
Mom's got it in her hands.
You enjoy twenty minutes of ranting.
Then you can go rest-
no.
You're a teen, you've got homework to do.

Time for bed-
no.  
You're a teen... what's sleep again?

*repeat
Sara Elliott Sep 2013
How nice to be a balloon
floating on a young ones wrist
How I'd like to be a balloon.  

They float for some time, and then happily deflate
leaving there rubbery reminisce
For the young one to toy with
And stretch to it's limit
Or they might keep the balloon close
like some long lost friend

Unless, you're the sad balloon
who's string is dropped
and floats way up high
away from the happiness
away from the child
well
away from the tears of the young ones loss
who wishes only for the balloon
who's already lost.
Sara Elliott Sep 2013
There's a woman on my ceiling
I know she's there
But every time I go to look
She's gone.
Sara Elliott Sep 2013
The woman on the bench sits alone every day
staring off at some unseen thing
Or maybe she's gazing at the clouds to find
that happy place inside her mind
I asked the woman, why this bench every day?
The birds all fluster around
She looked down to me, only to say
"I've found him. He's mine today."

— The End —