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Sophia Rae Oct 2012
My brain is knotted to my head with ties I should unravel.
I guess it doesn’t do me any good to sit and think.
And in my dreams I’m in a boat and then the current makes it sink
and blood just pours into the ocean til I’m left with feeling weak
and these thoughts burn inside me deeper than the comfort that I seek.
It’s all a waste
and what’s the point if I would let my findings go

if it meant I’d see the outline of my sharp and brittle bones?
Clinging to every song I hear to search it for a kind of purpose
I could try to find a God to show me all this isn’t worthless.
Perhaps there was a word you said that made me keep on crawling
past the people who have told me I should focus on my calling.
Or perhaps it was a word you never stuck around to say
and I am left here on my own to try to seize these ******* days.
My mind is a machine creating thoughts that are contrived
and they can see the insincerity that’s dripping from my eyes.
Sophia Rae Oct 2012
I’m slowly looking onward.
You all taught me how.
But when the weather is warm, I can still see our island.
I feel our hands clasped in a circle,
hear the trees above me as the wind refuses to halt.
We said that when we started,
we became who we are.

We could breathe in the summer when we were standing close.
And we argued it all: mistakes, human flaw, the presence of God.
And maybe you’ve forgotten,
but I hope when you look back
you still sing a green willow.

I tried to sway your broken mind, felt the pain of your direction,
and our audience told us it seemed so honest
and it was.
The day you asked us where we live, I waited for a letter.
I waited to hear that maybe I touched your life as much as you did mine,
something tangible to prove that it was all real.
I never got a letter.
But I’ll forgive the grounds of England we were never quite able to touch.
I’ll forgive the brief good bye given over a cheap dinner,
for the moments we smiled on the grass assure me that you came for a reason.

Though at times the silence still shuts my open mind,
when I hear your voice singing through my speakers,
I remember your influence.
You told us how you gave up everything to follow your dreams:
“It’s hard to do what you love,” you said.
You gave us up, too.
I remember running on the treadmill on a Sunday afternoon,
looking up only to see you on the TV screen,
proud to call you someone I once knew.
I continued to run, singing a green willow.

Maybe we’ll meet again
The poor soul sat sighing
in the place you’re sure is heaven.
by a sycamore tree
We’ll be on our island,
sing all a green willow
and I will feel our hands clasped in a circle,
her hand on her *****
hear the trees above me as the wind refuses to halt,
her head on her knee                                                
and think about that summer when we became who we are.
sing all a green willow
We will trace our memories back to the days that we were young
sing willow, willow, willow.
Sophia Rae Oct 2012
I remember the night before Philly.
I drove over a little too fast,
and waited outside a little too long so you wouldn’t notice.
Because I was always rushing for you
when you were trudging behind me.

To my small self of 16,
I couldn’t think of a better way to spend my summer days
but with you.
By summer days I mean nights,
and by nights I mean anytime after 10,
or sometimes one a.m.,
you know, the times that you would call me.

I remember helping you pack for college; the day seemed lonely
and you seemed free.
Your clothes were piled on top of boxes that would never be able to hold them.
But somehow you still managed to leave.

“So I’ll see you over break, I guess,” was all you had to say.
And somehow this stark simplicity justified my ways.
I only felt the insincerity of that brief phrase as I sat alone over break.
It played in my head as I pictured my hand hitting your face.

I don’t have time for guessing.
And I most definitely can sew up the time I left open for you.

You seemed so beautiful in the summer,
but maybe it was just the shine of the sun.
I felt alive driving to your house,
but maybe it was just the adventure of our run.

I realize now who I was to you.
It took five months, cities away and laughs so few.
But I was your designated driver,
your friend when you needed one,
your nap when you were tired.
I was your help-me-pack-for-college friend,
your, “Soph, grab me and Connor,” friend.
Your hungover coffee,
your fill in at tables set for two.
And now from Philadelphia,
I mean nothing to you.

— The End —