My mind is like a race track, every thought trying to be the first to cross my mind

Will it be the one who's positive, the confident one, the one where everything is going to be alright, the one that makes me smile and determined to keep going forward

Will it be the one who's negative, through one saying that it won't turn out like I want it to. The one that gives me nightmares that I'm not enough

I don't know which thought will win the 17 year long race that's been going on in my life.

I can only hope that the truth will come forward, and that I'll be ready for it

I met the girl I wrote the poem about.
She was absolutely more beautiful than I could have ever imagined.
Gorgeous she is, my heart was ready to shout.
However, I felt so tortured and my mind was maddened.
Not at  the fact the event had happened in a tea shop,
But because I could did not have that guts to ask for her number.
As tormenting it was, she did give a name that she goes by.

Oh, that's right, I have not explained the incident!
I was on a duty and that was to quench a thirst of tea.
As I had walked into the shop, it was not dissonant.
I looked around in the shop, I then saw thee.
She was sitting down at a table alone at the time.
I, however, do not possess such a courage to give her company.
As pity it was, I went ahead and order the drink.

Oddly enough, the shop was empty.
with the exception of the workers, as well as her and I.
With that, there was no line so I walked to the cashier in a hefty
Manner. I ask the cashier, "what is the most exotic drink that can please the eye?"
and the cashier did not respond, or should I say I could not hear her words.
Her voice was rather quiet and hard to understand.
it was rather irritating but I kept my cool.

I had ordered two drinks for some friends.
But I had hit a stump without knowing what to get myself.
Then she gets in the non-existent line and bends
To see why I was struggling. My mind was busted for thinking what to get itself.
But when I took noticed of her I had flustered and apologized.
I told her, " I want to try something exotic could you please help me?"
She kind of laughed, and proceeded to help me.

And she did help me, I felt like I was in the way of her presence.
Even though she most likely didn't feel that, I did for I felt like I was holding up a line that felt like it was leading to the outside door.
But eventually, we both had got our drinks and sat at a window seat with the sun's essence.
Of course I tried to make conversation, but I think I failed very poor
Like. Her friend did show up, and I felt like I should make haste
And so I left.
Within the conversation she did give me a name, and the name she calls herself is "Shay."

The thunder claps loudly
but the following silence is heavier.
Two sets of eyes search for comfort in darkness
-they're blinded when the sky blinks red again.
The clouds sigh green,
it's not deep- you're 16
but you sigh, when
you're asked
to repeat
what you said
again

It's smaller than I remember

Not that I possessed many things,
though,
it always seemed like everything could fit in here
even the things I scarcely use;
The woolen jumper that scratches my neck,
The mittens, now too small to fit,
The bandanna with a stain or two
Its strange how things get put away to not be seen again
That is what I am now
in this moment.

I must remind myself to air out my cupboard once I get out.
I'm breathing in the stale air my possessions do
It smells of worn wood and detergent
The smell of a home I've always known.

There is a faint rattling
I try and hold my legs together to keep them from shaking
I hate that all I can hear is my short breath
I don't want to move to rub my eyes again.

Silence

A thud.

Nothing

More thuds of weighted boots

Silence again

My legs are cramping now
That recent growth spurt didn't do me good.
My **** knees keeping knocking together
Mama always said I couldn't keep still

Why do I get the feeling
that once I leave my small cupboard
That I won't be the same again?

there's a newspaper that gets delivered
when it rains it soaks & slithers on the front porch
melting into the cement
I never pick it up
I don't have an address
but it reminds me of Sunday morning
it used to cover a male face
there's a clearing of a throat and the sipping of black coffee
it's 2004 and the president is my father's favorite person
I'm used to living in tiny spaces
stir-crazy is reserved only for the *****-inducing extrovert
but as I turn on the light
the yellow glow reminds me of being inside an egg
I feel like I did in 8th grade when I was perpetually blushing
and all the girls in my classroom asked me why I was so nervous
I have flashes of a lemon tree
I was born nervous I tell them
the rest of the year is spent in silence

Have you ever gotten lockjaw?
At least, that's what I think it is
when my mouth stretches
to let in a yawn, or out a sigh.
My tongue recedes
for the muscles underneath pull taut.
It hurts to keep open,
and it hurts to try and close.
I cannot speak
yet I cannot seem to keep silent.
But this is only for a moment,
one that I long for,
as silly as that sounds.

It reminds me of talking to you