Ms Anderson, Ms Anderson,
Wherefore art thou my teacher?
Grant my pen a poet's gift
Let me scribble my pencil thin,
Writing, kindling your blossom smile.
You, beautiful as you flip my file
Which has me commit to your homework, while
Sitting at home with a radiant smile.

Ms Anderson, Ms Anderson,
Wherefore art thou my teacher?
'tis true, nobody's perfect -- nobody but you.
Naughty I was and punish you did that's true.
"Write, 'I will listen in class.'" you said demure,
"on each line of those two pages; and stop being immature."
I'd Sit and contemplate, drool and scribble,
"Lovely miss Anderson. My miss Anderson"

Ms Anderson, Ms Anderson,
Wherefore art thou my elder?
Were you younger, by a decade or two,
I grant I'd hop and merrily skip,
With you on the park and  buy you a sweet.
I'd look in your eyes, and call you Anderson.
My dear Anderson.

Children are...
rather innocent creatures
Or at least,
I,
in my protected, childhood of fairy tales
Princesses and superheroes and talking frogs
Was
My third grade diary when asked to name something precious
-Family
Unlike toys unbreaking
Keeps you happy and safe
Rather,
precocious I was at that
but still too much
-Naive

As I still am,
of course
See, the thing about adolescence
Is
Hormones raging, from crushes to bullying to acting out
The time when we
              Think
We're out of the                     Naive
                  Quite dangerous, really
Since, we're really Not

A whole butload of
                         "adult"
                               stuff I'll probably
Be subject to and
May have been earlier if not for
My reclusive tenancies
and lazy ways
and protected life


I say it,
In a careless manner
Trying to look cool, even in poetry
But, like, it's going to happen
I'm going to come face
to face
Have to make
a choice
And it's nothing to be intimidated about
I tell myself
Still,
Truly a question
to consider,

I'm assuming,
one day I'll mature
And when that day comes...

Will I still be the little girl
With the two bouncing pigtails
Scrunched up face
Pencil too tight grip
Recreating
Oval eyes, smiley lips, long hair
My nth drawing of a girl?

Mind uncluttered
with what could be
         what should be
         what would be
Only, what is
And what I want

Hmm...
But as the clock strikes twelve another day has gone by
and it's well past time for me to go to bed
Another year, past
More time gone by
More memories to reminisce about
But...
Also more to look forward to

I am young blood,
I am weak too
You never knew that did you?
I guess it got away,
All of the things,
You know...
The flood gates have opened,
Releasing all of the things,
You know...
The things that fill me

I can't see myself in anyone
I can't find you in me
Let me be honest
I think I could find more in stone
Why am I here?
Surrounded by people,
I've never felt more alone

Why did you leave?
Contagious lies they never leave,
I think they love me
You know...
The revenants of hope you buried,
The memories that I can't forget
You know...
The ones you still sleep with

I am young blood,
I am weak too
But you never knew that,
Did you?

Oh Adolescents
Emotional highs and lows
We mellow with age

something about that town
all the kids dropped like flies
year after year
here
you don't come across beautiful people
with
whole hearts
genuine smile
because
scars on the road where john flipped his bike
mark the one mile
from the house where tragedy struck
his kids on the head, a little too hard one night
and we don't swim in august anymore,
memorial sign hanging
almost like all of our heads that sunday a few days after
coming ‘round the corner just like john,
a little too fast
heartbreak is due
shaking hands, we clamored amongst the kids we grew up with
weeks after
only to be tipping the bottle back
a little too far
pushing the gas petal down
a little too hard
after five years,
falling falling falling
the kids stopped caring if God was knocking at the door
because opening that mortal door between the great beyond and earth is a
handshake
and
a kiss on the cheek
from your best friend
whispering welcome home