In my homeroom class, we don't have a seating chart.
But I still sit as far away from the door as I can.
Subconsciously it's probably because of a school shooting.
I've been anticipating one to strike at my small high school for a couple years now.
It's probably because of a lock down we had a couple years ago when I was still in middle school.
There were armed men on campus.
We had to be silent for hours.
I was in choir at the time.
Over 100 of us were squeezed into a small space.
There were girls crying,
my best friend was holding my hand,
I was having an anxiety attack.
I was only thinking
"Please not today..."

I'm not surprised anymore.
When another school is in the news,
it's deeply upsetting
but not surprising.
It's all I've ever known.
The Columbine High School shooting happened in 2001.
I was born a year later.
I've never actually known peace in this country...

Blip. Blip. Blip
In the black of my room a red light pulses langorously on my phone
Steady green and blue lights and a rapid orange define the router across the room
Red digital numbers stand in the place of the clock
At precisely 6:00 am my alarm goes off(a deranged rooster entrapped in my phone)
A flick of a finger dismisses the crowing and the day has begun
After dressing and any other trivial task, I  am headed downstairs
A chik of the toaster
One beepbeepbeep of the microwave
More digital numbers, this time green, indicate that my bus comes shortly and I dash off
The headlights of the bus announce its presence half a block before it halts and the doors jerkily slide open
I text Graham from five feet away, because I don't yet know enough sign language
On the bus the driver may make an announcement, various lights and a few wires around her seat
School starts with a bell and the mindless herd shuffles in
The hallways bustle with the noise of teenagers chatting noisily, ipods playing, cells buzzing, beeping, texting
Homeroom and every period after is marked by a bell before and after until the last bell, freeing us from our institution of education
Now everyone is really alive and the clammer of sounds is three times as loud as the morning.
On the bus all but the most obnoxious are silent, closed off in their little world of a cellphone, ipod, or mp3
The kids file on and off the bus, only waking from their technology induced zombification to rapidly vocalize with their friends
Once I get home microwave humms as food is reheated or quickly cooked
The rice cooker is prepped and light flips on when plugged into the wall
Coffee maker may be set, and if my dad is home, his workspace is humming and light-pulsing as well
Brother and sisters argue over which tv show to watch or first computer turn while I'm wrapped up in my world of texting homework and poetry
Mom arrives from school and dinner is made
Stove humming loud and food stirfryed
Dinner no blips beeps or pulses matter, just the clinking of silverware and conversation
Afterwards, faucet runs dishes clattering while I wash
Imersion resumes and videos, games, and homework take over until bed
Teeth are brushed, pajamas donned, and members of this family mess around in bedroom before slowly transitioning to bed, and then sleep
So ends another day for me in the 21st century

The dull public ruckus of the afternoon train filled the gaps between us.
We could have been part of it,
Drowned so deep in a conversation we could gladly call our own.
But our past selves have already taken invisible
B
R
O
K
E
N
Steps away from each other.
And tucked ourselves in the tight pockets of this companionable silence
As dangerous as the trigger handled by my emotions,
A gift for your forehead.
I will shove all my pain into your being
And watch my reflection crumble to her knees with a familiar cry of agony.
Mauled into frayed flesh in a crimson rose bush
That we had woven friendship wraths from.
And yet, my rasp throat still delivered smoothly.
“How are you today?”

Your usually anticipative eyes
Watched the scenery outside,
Disappearing just as fast as it came.
Did you think of the first day of school?
When we first approached with awkward greetings?
And from a wave and a smile
You start to attach them with questions
Questions that you should be asking me now
Things like
“Do you think we will end up in the same sec 3 class?”
“Do you want to go to ORA with me?”
“Can you save your game? We already hardly bond in class.”
“Are you even listening?”
I was.
I answered every last one,
From the beginning when we stepped into homeroom.
Even the ones you’ve never even asked me.
But now that I come running to you with my stained envelope
Are you still there at your seat?
To tell me
“You know what you need? A good cup of frozen yogurt.”


Now every glance that met
Will be snapped apart like a crisp twig.
Every walk down the corridor past each other,
Will be like two freshmen models on their first runway.
Every move, breath, laughter,
I will always be aware.
Perhaps because your voice
Will always make up for your height in the crowd,
Audible from the opposite side of the hall.
And its only until I let the quietness sink in,
When I have decided to treasure listening to the way you delivered my name,
Leaving your loud mouth like some exotic font.
That till today I still cannot decipher.

What was my height in your crowd?
164cm tall with probably less than half an inch, I guess.
You never noticed how my eyes would wander unconsciously.
Just to wonder
If you still remember I existed,
Somewhere in the pages of your scrapbook,
In the crowd,
Still searching, listening attentively.

Do you understand now?
We are standing at the extreme ends of Newton’s pendulum
Spiked from the illness of our broken bonds.
And I would swing an end so hard I would skewer you
And then the pain will come
Flying back
Stabbing me just as gruesomely.
But it’s so much better
Than disobeying the laws of reciprocation.
My friend, its unfair to be the only one.
Why not requite this one heaven of a pain?

People have pet the conflicted pain like dust off me,
And ignore the bruises that I have willingly punched myself upon.
They taught me
That the heart is a 2-room residence.
Happiness
Sadness
And if you are too happy
Don’t celebrate too loudly
Because you’ll wake the neighbor.

But could it really be helped?
This 1-year worth of what you have given me
You have left 2 party animals as clueless tenants.
Did you understand?
The fact that no matter what silly things we’ve done,
You will always be welcomed home.
And we would continue to drink
Till we are tipsy enough
To walk on the edge of the bridge we have built,
And fall into the hungry rivers
Into the places darker than black
Drowning the air out of our lungs.
But what reason should I be scared,
When you have always been the best swimmer I’ve ever known?
Forever a winner to me,
No matter how many competitions you have paddled out of the pool in disappointment.
It has always been you,
Who would slip over a note to my table,
My hair spilling over its surface in defeat.
Telling me that everything’s ok.
It’s you
Who understood that I was more of a listening person.
Your missing piece to fit your outspoken personality.
You,
The one who could even challenge me to a dance-off just to have the loser ask for the ketchup.
You,
Who could go on forever about a guy you obviously like,
But only say you ‘don’t stand a chance’.
I
The diplomatic one who would arrange you,
Like files in an office drawer.
You
The one who tried to hold us together till the end.
I,
Who failed to treasure your efforts, and share this burden.

And now that you’ve turned down the volume,
And walked out of the door without a goodbye
How am I supposed to handle the next morning, when being sober is an absolute nightmare?
Left alone to wonder what I have done
While we’re drunk, carefree and
Crumbling at the seams.

My dearest friend,
Have I ever told you,
How the number 1
Has always been our own funny little number?
Now if you just take ONE step closer…
Yes, I promise this time I’ll keep my earphones away.
I would point at the signboard above the door
And muse over how your stop,
Is ONE stop before mine.
How your birthday,
ONE day after mine.
Yeah… just like how we are ONE world apart in personality.
Isn’t that why we became like this?
SHUT UP I KNOW I’M A TERRIBLE CONVERSATION HOLDER.
I CAN NEVER PUT MY WORDS INTO THE APPROPRIATE CONTEXT.
BUT YOU KNEW THAT.
You knew.
Now go ahead.
Laugh.
Like how you always do, with that wide grin that reflected nothing but forgiveness,
Stripped down to reveal absolutely no grudges.
Because I deserve it, don’t I?
Because it was my fault,
I was the one, who willingly caused this silent war,
Fraying this thread that I mistook for a hiker’s rope.
There can only be ONE survivor in this meaningless game.
Scold me,
Because there was never such a rule.
I have decided who would be standing alone,
Long ago.
The loser,
The flower that will never find its way back from its ashes.
A.
B
R
O
K
E
N.

M
E.


(hi there. Look I tried ;w;)

you’ve had your whole future mapped out
since you were 16, sitting in homeroom
and hand-picking your life.
me, i’ve got no plans to speak of,
still trying to figure myself out;
everything major still undecided and undeclared
because pandora’s box is
always really pretty until you open it,
and the future’s really alluring until you’re in it
and you’re wondering if it really fits.
and i know it’s stupid trying to
plan for a car crash,
to plan on ******* up  
but i’ve been trying to take precautions
in case i don’t grow into who you were counting on.
i keep your promises tucked in my pocket,
you make vows just to talk about it.
and i don’t know much about fate
because once my horoscope actually told me
that i’ll be alone and unloved forever,
born under an unlucky star,
so i’m not placing my trust in the stars
even if sometimes i get the sneaking suspicion
they might just be right.
i’m trying to dictate my own future without having a tongue,
i’m trying to find a future i’ll be content living in.
people are always waiting for time to run out,
and i’ve always been waiting for the fall out.
because i know all good things have to end
all bands have to break up, all stars have to explode,
all slow dances have to still, and eventually
all loves have to run out in one way or another.
and i’ve got front row seats to
the inevitable explosion
because you’re a heart attack and i’m totally doomed
we’re just bombs going off too soon
we’re just strangers dancing in a crowded room
we’re just ****** up and wishing on the moon
we’re just racking up casual causalities
we’re just reading our fortunes
in the coffee grinds and tea leaves,
half-joking and half-a-little-too-honest
when you peered at yours and said,
“it says we’re gonna grow old and grey together,
and move out of the city and have a bunch
of loud mouthed kids with your eyes.”
i don’t know about the future
and i suppose you’d like to tell me about it,
after all you’ve had your whole future mapped out
since you were 16, sitting in homeroom
and hand-picking your life.
but it’s an affliction, all those ******* predictions.
don’t tell me where you want to be in five years in from now;
tell where you’re actually going to be tomorrow.
because i was dying for this week to be over
and then i was dying for this year to be over.
and i can see it clearly,
my whole life lived in transit
on the way to something else.
i was dying to finish high school
and then i was dying to finish college
and then i was just dying,
and i forgot to live in the present in my rush
to get to the future.

1

I sit in the back of Dad’s car, bopping my head to The Beatles’ Revolution and hum quietly while reading over my notes for today’s math test.

2

Lunch with Val, Eugene, Michelle, Kayla, Chris, and Nick, talking about our favorite movie, Forrest Gump, until Val interrupts with how nervous she is about applying to high school.  We finish lunch in silence.

3

Let f(x) = -2X2 + 4X + 6…That is the question that has plagued me all day.  On my math test, I made the answer positive instead of negative, the minor mistake that will cost me my A.

4

On this beautiful, unseasonably warm afternoon, I am glad to be outside reading my favorite Matheson stories on the wooden cutout in the giant oak by the dining room window, but worries that I may not be accepted to The Academy interrupt my leisure.

5

For Christmas, my friends and I exchange gifts.  Val gives me a stuffed flamingo. I put right it right next to the unicorn on the lace covered brown bench that oversees my room.

6

We have received your application for admission testing to The Academy for Allied Health and Biomedical Sciences. Your test will be on January 28, 2008.

7

In gym class, Val holds her hand as if she is in pain, but she refuses to show it to anyone, not even me, her best friend.

8

Val has a circular scar on her hand that looks like a burn mark.  She insists that she is just clumsy and she fell.

9

This kid next to me at The Academy admission testing is breathing so loudly I can’t concentrate.

10



I glide my paintbrush through the orange paint and onto the canvas.  I don’t know what I’m painting, but I know I need to paint.

11

Math class is miserable.  Not only did I get an 86 on the test that I thought I aced, but Val started crying hysterically, until Ms. Endolf sent her to the school counselor.

12

Michelle and Kayla are mad at Val for acting so strangely.  They refuse to speak to our friend.  I refuse to join their charade.  I know she’s acting strangely for a reason.

13

I come home to find my mother crying…happy tears.  She tells me that I passed my admission test with a proud ear-to-ear grin on her face. The next step in the admission process is an interview with The Academy on March 1.

14

I bead a few bracelets before going to sleep.  I feel guilty, like I should be studying or preparing for my interview, but I just don’t want to.

15

Val pulls me into the coat cubby during homeroom, the dark circles under her eyes barely visible from the faint light in the  dimly lit room.  She tells me how her father has abused her and her sisters this past year and swears me to secrecy

16

How can I help my best friend and her sisters? Can I help my best friend and her sisters?  Can I help my best friend?

17

I go to the veteran’s home where I’d been volunteering for a while and see my favorite veteran, Ray.  He tells me not to get old.

18

“Why do you want to go to The Academy?”  Ms. Ferris, my Academy interviewer, asks.  I stare at her blankly for a moment before responding.

19

When Val comes to school with more bruises, I break my promise and tell my parents.

20

I slowly open my report card to reveal a B in math…my first B ever.  I take a puff of my inhaler.

21

The old home phone rings; I assume it will be the Academy with an admission decision. “Help me, Morissa!”  Val screams into the phone.  I gesture to my mother who grabs the car keys, as we race to the door.

22

Spring break.  My family and I go to Hershey Park in Pennsylvania to celebrate my being one of forty students admitted to The Academy.

23

DYFS goes to Val’s house after her older sister tries to commit suicide by overdosing on pain pills.

24

Lunch is so quiet with Eugene, Michelle, Kayla, Chris, and Nick.

25

I got an 84 on my math test today.  I smile.

26

Val returns to school but sits at a different lunch table.  She has no more bruises, but her eyes are still red.

27

My gown flows as I march down the church aisle to receive my certificate of completion from St. John Vianney.

28

I stare at the screen of the my new HP computer as I scratch the back of the $15 iTunes card my grandparents gifted to me. As I begin to type in OKGO’s Here It Goes Again, as the first song I purchase, I change my mind and type in The Beatles’ Revolution.

29

I relax outside alternating between reading Stephen King and beading on my twirling chair as I now do every relaxing summer day.

30

Went to the shore.  Won a giant yellow bee stuffed animal.  I am the skeeball champion!

31

This is so embarrassing.  I don’t know how to open my locker.  In all my years of private school, home school, and Catholic school, I’ve never had a locker until entering The Academy.  Mrs. Bow laughs as she teaches me how to operate a locker.

32

Holding a brain is a lot different than I thought it would be.  It is mushier and lighter than I imagined.

33

“Ever see Forrest Gump?” my new friend, Ruchir, asks at lunch, as I mush the jelly on my sandwich.

34

I walk down the street pulling my ****-tzu and Maltese in my wagon.  Lester almost jumps out when he sees a terrier twice his size, but I catch him just in time.  It is the scariest moment I have had in a long time.

35

At the veteran’s home, I see Ray and tell him how much I love The Academy.  He smiles and asks if I’d like to sing with him.

36

The phone rings.  It’s my new friend Shannon.  She needs help with our Biomedical Sciences homework.

37

I spend Columbus Day at The Carpet Maven, my parent’s carpet store.  St. John Vianney never gave days off for “made up holidays.”

38

Solve for x in the equation Ln(x)=8…I haven’t been able to get that problem out of my head all day.  That is the problem that earned me the Best in Class Award on my first marking period report card.

39

It’s Sunday.  I walk down Main Street to pick up bagels for my family.  The smiley, bright-eyed girl behind the counter at the bagel shop is Val.  She is a student at Mother Superior High School. She asks if my unicorn is being nice to my flamingo.

40

I look at the flamingo and unicorn on my bench.  They’re fine. I’m okay.  Everybody ‘s alright.   Everything’s good.

You at least went.
so that meant the party could finally be awkward.
that's homeroom
at your personal Harvard
your low self esteem was the head dean
[ claimed you had promise ]
then promptly vomits
but you promised to maim
your lollipops with hot topic's
most goth  night-shade of hemlock
iron-on, henna tattoos
for your thin lips.
like two gates
to a birdcage
where you keep
ravens...
pecking the tip of your tongue
where your brave words die
for lack of oxygen... pecking
the flesh off the skeleton key
to the heart of your insightful
comment,... stymied -
a black raven
savors the succulent eyes
of your hurricanes, so
braille maps for blind rage
fly off the shelves... fly like
led zeppelins to
fresh hell.
you lose your window seat
on the wing of a prayer
to Charles Bukowski.
now you're scowling a gilded smile
at all the Ed Hardlys'...
good thing you brought Jello Biafra Shots
to the shindig... cubes of gelatinous absinthe
each with a sugar box
lodged in supermax insecurity prisms...
fey emeralds.
monochrome rubicons
you pop
when cross.

like wainscoting the panic room
that came with a deejay
who thinks you're
a boy who got
lost.

Remember the time
I thought I liked you
But it only lasted a week.
Remember the time
I cursed for the first time;
And it was at you.

Remember the time
I liked you for an entire year
And obsessed over you.
Remember the time
You teased me everyday.

Remember the time
We used to take piano from the same woman
And I saw you at a lesson one day.
Remember the time
You told me about the night
The black thing came to you,
Up your arm.

Remember the time
We spent backstage
Goofing off.
Remember the time
I wrote about how much I hated you
In my diary,
Everyday.

Remember the time
I dated your best friend
And you were the obligatory third wheel.
Remember the time
You threatened to punch me
Because I made fun of the girl you liked.

Remember the time
We spent during choir practice
Looking at squirrels through the window.
Remember the time
You told me
"I don't care what homeroom I have,
As long as you're not in it."

Remember the time
The stinkbug kept following your shoes
In Spanish class.
Remember the time
You threw a pinecone at me
Because I deserved it.

Remember the time
We sat together in all our classes.
Remember the time
I dreamed about you
Dying
In my front room.

Remember the time
We Skyped for three hours.
Remember the time
I beat you up
Because I was angry.

Remember the time
My two best friends started dating
Because you finally got up the courage and asked her.
Remember the time
You told me you wanted to break up with her.

Remember the time
You stole my Sharpies
Until I asked him out.
Remember the time
You broke up with her
And avoided me for a week.

Remember the time
We spent after school,
Studying for Spanish.
Remember the time
I was scared of you
But walked with you,
In silence.

Remember the time
You had a rave in class
And asked me to tape it.
Remember the time
I cut myself
And you got mad at me
And we spoke even less.

Remember the time
The algebra teacher threatened to separate us
Because we talked too much in class.
Remember the time
I messaged you
And messaged you
And you wouldn't answer.

Remember the time
You and your mum invited me to dinner.
Remember the time
I saw you for the first time
In two months
And, despite the same clothes
And hair,
You looked like a stranger.

Remember the time
You asked him out for me.
Remember the time
We Skyped for five minutes
And had nothing to say.

Remember the time
You held my hand all period
Because you were cold.
Remember the time
You told me you were insane
And we couldn't be like we used to.

Remember the time
You told me not to worry,
That we were still the same, relationship-wise.

Remember the time
You told me not to cry
But I did.

Remember the time
You held me while I sobbed,
The first time you'd ever seen me cry.

Remember the time
You assured me you'd be fine.

Remember the time
I shook while you held my hands.

Remember the time
You hugged me after class,
A week later
And I nearly cried of happiness.

Remember the times.

Do you remember the times?
Because it seems all I'm doing these days
Is remembering you.

She and I exchanged disdainful glances
across the parking lot. The verbally brash
invitation she gave me at 10:30 two nights
earlier from a low-riding car resounded
in my brain. She wanted our graduating class
to get together and sit awkwardly around
a campfire while a few reminisced
of homeroom and half days back in high
school. And as the last few embers glowed
like residence halls, she would clear
her throat and bash college. She’d denounce
the curriculum, professors, and parking spaces
then praise the days of hurrying through carpeted
hallways and freshmen traffic. To see our classmates
laughing with hands outstretched to the flames
would bring a smile to her summer-chapped lips.
But we’re no longer classmates.
We’re just seventeen people trying to live our lives
outside the confines of Galeton High School. Sure,
we’ll bite our tongues and fake smiles every now
and then, but we’ll never be more than superficial.

“And what do you think? Are there cliques in seventh grade?”
SHE
stands alone.
But not really.
“Absolutely.
There are cliques.
There are the Country-Club-Better-Than-You-Stuck-Up-Brats,
and the Future Fascists of America
and the group evvvverybody likes,
or at least,
that’s what they think,
who wouldn’t like them,
what’s not to like?
Y’wanna know what,
there are more cliques too,
the Invisibles,
two groups of Invisibles,
boys and girls broken up into Invisibles,
the Idiots, sittings with the CCBTYSTBs,
actually,
they’re sort of the same.
And there is exclusion,
there are hurt feelings,
there have been hurt feelings,
there is the hurting of feelings,
this is real,
this is honest,
this is now.”

Silence,
louder than HER words,
echoes
through the room,
bouncing off walls,
ringing in my ears.
No one applauds
as they have to the rest;
nobody applauds
nobody
applauds,
nobody
applauds
because nobody agrees
wants to admit it.
I do not applaud,
but I do.

“What are the weaknesses the seventh grade shares?”
Immaturity.
No common sense.
Lack of any sense of responsibility.
Idiocy.
SHE
contributes.
She says what my mind has created,
She understands
without me telling her.
But no,
they cannot listen to HER
with her true statements,
they don’t want to face the truth,
but they say,
We don’t want to look bad,
but they cannot handle the truth
is all.
“We are NOT immature,
we aren’t idiots,
we have common sense,
we’re responsible.”
Really.
Huh.
Never knew that.
I guess I’m just not up to par with my knowledge of the cliques.
Idiot.

“What are some strengths the seventh grade shares?”
SHE
has realized
that SHE is going to be ignored.
She does not
contribute.
But this time
I
do.
“For the most part,
most of us,
we are honest.”
They stare
with widened eyes.
She speaks.
Yep. I’m speaking.
I’ve been speaking.
Always.
What?
Oh.
Okay.
You don’t talk loud enough. We can’t ever hear you.
I’m sorry.
I’m sorry, you liar.
You haven’t been listening.
But it’s okay.
I understand.
I’m used to that by now.
And now,
I can safely say,
so is SHE.

“Why would you go and say something like that?”
Staring with their penetrating eyes
that seek for the truth,
Why could you say what we needed to keep under wraps,
didn’t we tell you we don’t want to look bad?
“You haven’t been here
but a half a school year.
You really don’t know,
you
don’t
know,
so you can’t speak,
be quiet,
be
quiet,
be silent.”
Be silent
as the snow
on the coldest day of winter,
be silent
as the
clouds
after the biggest summer storm,
silent
as
the
rain
hitting
cold
hard
hearts.

*Thank you to Laurie Halse Andersen for coming up with that in her book Speak. (I created everything except for the Future Fascists of America bit.)


This poem symbolizes honesty and a lack of willingness to face the truth in middle school especially. On Thursday (March 22, 2012) there was a 7th grade meeting. The headmaster the seventh graders to get in groups that the homeroom teachers had put us in. My friend Cam and I wound up in the same group, which was pretty great. The headmaster asked us, “What are the strengths of the seventh grade?” “Weaknesses?” Someone said we tend to be “cliquey.” Mr. Chambers asked who agreed with her, and people said “no,” or “just a little” and someone said, “I think we have cliques but not the mean kind.” and Cam stood up and said that she absolutely thought we were very cliquey.
When I had SHE in capital letters in the poem I met that although Cam was speaking, I had thought the same exact words. When she is lowercase, it means that just Cam was speaking. When I said I don’t applaud, but I do, I mean that I didn’t physically applaud, but in my mind I applauded her and supported her every step of the way because she was brave enough to speak her mind and I am shy and reclusive.
“…I don’t give a nargle’s bonbon what they think of me,” is what she told me when I told her how brave she was. Before that, she had told the people who confronted her and called her a liar, “you’re just in denial.”
Soooo in a way, this is dedicated to Cam’s honesty!

~
Apathetic city skyline
This must be Drum Street
There's critical thinking
Digital tendencies

Pigeons on the roof
Kids in the library
Hail and flashpoint
Homeroom
Their final resting place

Who of you misses the bleak missiles of youth?
And how they used to hit like needles?

I can count your sufferings on my fingers
See them hidden in the tall grass
They move in secret
With shadow blister
As much as the caterpillar:
Elusive and eruciform

Sixteen crane wives
Collect on the guide wire
Their weathered plumage
Strangely displayed

Airplane debris on an uncharted wild
Macabre flowers growing out of air masks, gone quiet
The magic word is drear
It's a sorrow-filled caw
As if feathers from the grave
Clothing our fears

I can count the flock on my fingers
See them separate in mid-flight
Each a solitary path
Fusing rage and grief
Each a solitary path
Fusing rage and grief
~