If life would be as easy as mathematics,
I would be an expert.
If it was so exact and concrete,
If everything went according to a formula,
I would waltz through problems.
But it isn't. I stare deep into the dark sky
Why is it so hard?
Why won't there be a shortcut
Or and algorithm.
Because I'm so lost,
That neither the best mathematician can help me.
I see the past bearing down on me like a valley
I do believe I have the courage to take a step back
I feel the weight of generations past and the whispers they carry
I don’t know if it all comes full circle, but
I love the smell of old books.
I hate how we ignore those who came before us, as if we don’t walk across their graves every day.
I’m most passionate about understanding where we come from, and how we got here.
I hope people see me as a flashlight beneath a bedsheet, illuminating the written page.
120 hours since last school day,
popsicle teens huddled by heaters
in brick households
the teachers, frustrated by their rewritten plans
hold all overdue quizzes
on a Monday.
the teens, not completely thawed
stall themselves some wiggle room,
hold their pens with blind enthusiasm,
giggling to themselves,
because their moms are gonna be
sooo pissed when they hear about this
I have been invisible before.
My thoughts and justifications were transparent.
All anyone could see were my actions;
the way I failed and stumbled,
and ran head first into doors that lead me down path after path of distraction.
At least they seemed like distractions,
oh, but they become my destruction.
I spent my time quietly imploding,
only to change my mind last minute,
and suddenly explode.
I changed my mind,
but my body stayed stock still.
I stood in front of the judges
and while my tongue was granite,
the urge to run from the podium had never been greater.
I wished to be invisible.
I wished to go to a dark corner of the room and finish my implosion.
Out of sight,
where I could hide and self destruct without a sound.
And then if,
I picked up the shrapnel,
I could re-join everyone on stage at graduation.
I could hold my head high
and with a smile,
pretend no one saw me crumble.
I don’t think about us too often anymore
I don’t think about the night at the clubhouse where I dared you to kiss me
I don’t think about the nights we stayed up late in my living room while my mom was on vacation
I don’t think about how we were up late waiting together, pacing, waiting for our SAT scores to come out
I don’t think about the adventures on the beach and the party at your house where I almost lost my virginity to your best friend
I don’t think about how I was always your second choice next to her
I don’t think about the times we visited college campuses together and you cried in my arms on the pier in St. Augustine
I don’t think about how we got drunk on four lokos and had sex even though your mom was in the next room
I don’t think about how we didn’t talk for two years when you left for college and moved away from me
I don’t think about how when you came back to visit we met up in the mid afternoons for summery, hot, sweaty hook ups
I don’t think about when we would roll down the windows in my bedroom and get high at 1 in the morning
I don’t think about how we grew up and still ended up meeting up years later to connect
I don't think about how we were mid twenties and still harbored so much love for each other
I don’t think about none of that, no not at all
But I get a taste of that fiery and shitty cinnamon flavored Fireball and it all comes rushing back like a punch in my face
a blend of orange and yellow lights
smell from markers
sound echoes from the cube room
chairs are arranged
light traced the room from the window pane
swiftly, pen and paper work
noise and undescribed joke,
like here and go
money get in my mind
career path has choosen
now i'm sitting on office bench
talk about you and us