Dallas 19h
When I was nine
My mother asked, “What do you want to do when you’re older”
And I told her
With my nine-year-old smile
As wide as an ocean
My nine-year-old heart
As deep as infinity
I told her, “mama, I wanna touch the stars, I wanna find pirate treasure, I wanna climb mountains and live in the treetops”
My mother,
She looked at my nine-year-old smile
She held my nine-year-old heart in her hands
and she whispered,
“Baby, how are you gonna do all that?”
I didn’t have an answer
You see,
At age nine,
I didn’t think about practicality
Or actuality
Or logicality
Or any big word with an -ality stuck to it
At age nine I had aspirations that I rode like angel wings
Dreams that would carry me to the stars I longed to hold
I was nine years old with a mind full of colors
And a mouth made to love
My heartbeat was the drum I marched to
The melody to my song
I told my mother once again “mama I wanna touch the stars”
I am a freshman in high school now
I stand before you,
Age 15
A year and a half away from driving
3 years from applying
4 years from finding what I’m gonna do with my life
Since then
My nine-year-old smile has dwindled
My nine-year-old heart has shriveled
These dreamers shoulders have hunched
Under the weight of textbooks and GPA's
The fingers that spewed color like a 64 pack of Crayola crayons
Aimlessly type out the final paragraph of an essay
The cavern in my chest, that was filled with infinite possibilities and wonders and questions that I longed to answer
Now sits
Instead of looking for mountains to climb
My aged nine-year-old mind
Searches for the college that will accept me
Not even the real me
Not the seeker of possibility
Not the tree climber
Not the wannabe fingerprint artist
They will take prim and proper not-nine-year-old me
the one who tells her mom she’s gonna major in finance but she hates math
The one who’ll have a steady 9-5 that’ll numb her skull and make her contemplate if death can come from boredom
A coffee tainted room of pencil skirts and high heels
Instead of her favorite blue jeans and Chuck Taylors
A nice job that’ll pay well but only for the price of her nine-year-old originality
But she only tells her mom that because it sounds like a real job
A not nine-year-old treehouse living
Cave exploring fantasy
I mean, I have to move on from that dream.
It's time to be practical
Now instead of making up new words
I learn definitions of the ones that already exist
Instead of painting with my own colors
I use the ones handed to me
Because its practical
Its how it should be.
I am no longer nine years old
Far from it at that
And yet,
I still long to touch the stars,
just a little less
I still want to search for treasure
But just as an afterthought
My eyes are still glowing with wonder
Just a little bit duller
Nine-year-old me isn’t dead
She just
grew up
Walk towards blinding lights,
we came here to see; not we,
have only learnt to believe.
Ellison 1d
Down at the prairie side
Does the old farmer ride
At the comfort of his home
On his chestnut horse he roam
At the stable near the shed
Colored oaken brownish red
Is the little horse that sleeps
In bushels of hay of heaps
Do not fret, little horse
For soon you’ll race with force
But at the time being
I hope you don’t mind seeing
Out the view of where you lie
The bigger horses run by.
Little horse, little horse, forever run in the fresh air of the countryside.
My life is changing
the past is gaining speed away
the girl I once was
is becoming something more.

I miss my family
yet if I do not cast out on my own
I'll never know what my life is for.

My yearns for my mother,
to be that girl again, head on her chest.
Yet that girl is long vanished,
and I remind myself it's for the be
Verbalizing out her interests
attracted opportunities.

She planned to play with every insecurity,
learning, growing and blooming
with every opening.

She just had to take a chance
for the possibility.
Event hough she was dubious and stuttering.

But soon there would be rhythm and fluency
and there she would find unity in
a community.

- Beautiful Sensitive Soul
for so long,
i made one with the cracks in the road,
making sure i never stepped on one.
and i never cared to notice
how tired i was from doing it.

maybe it was because
the innocence
and easygoing youth
shielded my eyes
like the white linen curtains
that used to hang lazily on my window.

for so long,
the nine o’clock news
never bothered me
as much as it does now.
and the fact that everyone seems to drag their feet
at the same miserable pace
never struck my mind.
days keep growing faster
at an undetectable rate,
and i’m just starting to see that.

maybe it was because
reality tore the drapes down,
letting all of the light
shine on the things that were
left in the dark.
because growing older
was one of the things
that i chose
to leave in the corner.
Faith 5d
I am a flower blooming,
From a crack in the sidewalk.
You do not discover the beauty,
Until you suddenly glance,
Into that crack.
Your eye doesn’t fall upon it,
Too easily.

Why would anyone purposefully glance,
Into that small, dark imperfection,
In the sidewalk anyway?
They are much too busy,
Worrying about where they are planning to place each foot,

Besides, they would rather gaze ahead,
To the perfectly placed,
Well grown, nurtured flowers.

They glow in the sunlight,
And catch your eye when you pass;
The rays causing their gorgeous colors to dance, and radiate.
The breeze blows a cool wind to pull them closer together.
You see: happiness.

As I sit in the crack,
Waiting, wishing, wondering,
Sometimes I blossom,
Sometimes I wilt.

Once in awhile,
One or two people
May be kind, or perceptive, or understanding,
Enough to give me a chance: an opportunity.

They stare fixedly,
And instead of anger,
They see potential.
Rather than hurt,
They see love.
I’m 14 and it’s my freshman year and I’m so scared the rest of my life is gonna feel like this.
I’m 16 and I’m driving by myself for the first time and it takes everything in me not to just keep driving.
I’m 18 and I’m finally walking across the stage and all I can think of is how I look on the screen.
I’m 20 and I go to the carnival with my friends and I hope the rest of my life is gonna feel like this.
wow finally one that isnt abt my sad love life lol
In school I was told that I was small,
I was portrayed as a gold fish who lived in a small tank,
Like a small fish who was scared to jump to a larger one,
They failed to notice, fish can’t breath while they jump.

In school I was told that I was lazy,
I was displayed as if I were taking the easier path,
They failed to notice I was an A straight student,
Only I couldn’t be happy in such a squared larger tank.

Two years has passed and I am not lazy, nor small,
The fish has grown, and it is indeed gold,
But it doesn’t jump, it swims and flies,
They failed to notice, we are not made out of a mould.
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