Trapped

Author's Note: This is a poem I wrote to get something new on my blog, since Mr. Johnson was nagging us about it for a couple days. I got the inspiration for this piece from writers block, and had been wanting to write something about it for a while now, so it felt good to get it out. I haven't done something of this format ever, so that is a little experimental, and I ended very abruptly, which felt weird at first, but it really works well with this poem. Enjoy!

A wall.

Your cage--

You try to lock me in.

My breath--

It fades.

Too close to my own skin.

I see no light--

My world is gone.

Your tricks have been well played.

You blur the lines--

Of right and wrong

The edges become frayed.

One more time--

I try to shout.

To get me out of here.

The walls--

They shake, crumble and fall

The outside world is clear.

Claustraphobic

Author's Note: This is a piece I did based on a painting I saw at the Milwaukee Art Museum. For some reason, this painting gave me a lot to write about, so I chose it. At first I wanted to make it a poem, but it didn't feel right, so it's just kind of a journal entry-ish free form piece. I hope you enjoy it! Also, there is a picture of the painting below the piece.

My fingers wrap around the cold steel bars, one by one.

I've lost all of the reasons to grab onto that metal monster--

It encases

traps

suffocates.

           I've lost all reason, but one.

I don’t hold on to beg for forgiveness, or to try to break out, I hold on to feel something. The smooth cold nature does not forgive, does not accept, it bites back; it shocks me enough to make me feel again, feel what I've done, what this place has done to me. It is my own kind of drug, the simple feeling of something like that is enough to get me by.

Too soon though, the bars become one with my hands, intertwined so much that it makes me sick. I damage everything around me, like a parasite growing stronger by the minute, but instead...

 I grow weaker.

I reach through, grabbing for the light I see in the distance, the light that started out so bright, but now fades every time I glance back. I don't usually dare too look, for fear that it might fade completely, and that is the only thing I have left, but I am too far gone to care, for nothing can get worse, so I give in, grab for it with all my might, preparing for what happens next.

I keep reaching, only to have it fade faster than I could have ever imagined, dark purple the color of the fading sunset, into green as dark as the blacks of my eyes. They are the most beautiful colors in the rainbow, turning foul as they match the color of the dirty space around me, turning into memory as the light disappears forever.

I was wrong, I was not too far gone, I was at a crossroads, and I took the wrong route.

I am worse than too far gone now, I am forever erased in the minds of all who knew me, all who cared. I stumble back, and slide down the wall in a dark corner of my cell, prepared to spend the rest of my days here--

No.

Prepared to leave my body now, and have the empty shell that was once me remain, to gather dust, to rot for eternity, for no one will fine me.

No one wants to.

The Lunch Table

 Author's Note: I decided this piece was going to be controversial, because I wanted the comments on this post to be meaningful for both me and the person commenting. This piece is about the cliques in our school, and my goal was not to be disrespectful to anyone, but to still have an opinion on the topic at hand. I hope you enjoy it, and PLEASE comment! Don't be afraid to dissagree, or agree. Thanks!

Every school is rich in one thing or another, whether it is the arts, education, or something entirely unique. I have lived in three places so far in my life, and Pewaukee wins the sport award. Most everyone at school plays at least one sport, but most participate in multiple. Basketball, football, soccer, track, they're all on the daily agenda. Ask a few people what they did over the weekend, and at least one answer will be playing in a tournament, or  having something funny happen at a soccer game. All of these activities bring people together, and form tons of amazing friendships.
 

Unfortunately, sports are also just as able to keep friendships from forming.  In middle school, cliques are all you can expect, and in a stereotypical school, there would be the jocks, the nerds, and the cheerleaders. Here, it is simply the ones who play sports, and the ones who don't. Everybody knows, whether they want to admit it or not, that all the people who play one of the many activities get a spot at the lunch table, and all the friends they could need. It isn't because the kids that don't do recreational activities are weird, or uncool, but the worlds of the two cliques are totally different. Only a few people, like me, manage to fit in between both worlds, and that gives us a whole different outlook on the school.

The Pewaukee school district has all of their schools on one street, which means everyone grows up together, from kindergarten to senior year. This is both a blessing and a curse, because there is no pressure to meet new people, but by now, nothing is ever going to change with the way the cliques are. Even if one sport just disappeared, the cliques would not change, or intertwine, the sports group would only become closer, sympathizing with the ones who lost their favorite hobby. It is my hope that in the high school years we have to come, that something will change, something will shift the balance of this school, but for now, everything stays the same, and that is all that can be expected in a middle school world.

Ocean of Gold

Author's Note: This poem was originally a stream of consciousness, and started out with the word Field. I immediately thought of a sports field, and made a face. I tried to think of some other kind of field I would enjoy writing about, and imagined a wide open field, filled with tall grass, like in one of those super-dramatic perfume commercials. I wanted to give it a really personal feel, and I hope I accomplished that. Enjoy!

Whoosh-

The wind blows across the tall grass

Tickling my face

                      My ears

                              My fingertips;

My world has become an ocean of gold,

With the blue sky above.

I walk through the path

             My path

Thinking about nothing in particular

Because the sweet smell of earth fills my senses.

I brush my palms across the grass,

And it feels like I'm somewhere far from here.

I look back,

Seeing only light footprints of where I have stepped,

Looking forward-to where I will go

It is comforting, knowing I am not taking anything from here,

for this place is complete.
 

A green space opens up in front of me,

begging me to run through it

And down the hill like only a child knows how.

I give in,

and soon, my feet are taking me

faster

         faster,

until I fly down,

the wind rushing past me,

and a smile on my face.

when I finally find the will to stop,

                  I fall

and stare at the sky above,

   The endless sky-

which seems so full of possibilities, stares back,

until it seems to swallow me whole,

to a place only to be described as heaven.

No More

Author's Note:  This poem is a more dramatic-well like crazy dramatic- version of what I feel about my sister being in college. I do miss her when she is away, and I love the moments when we can just talk and laugh again when she is home and forget about how she is almost a senior in college. I hope you enjoy it!

Peace fills my mind
Bubbling, leaking in the cracks
Tossing away the despair,
The Longing
The Regret
Seems so easy

Your absence was forgotten
Now that your absence is no more

Back into our lives
In our sight-
Not in our cell phones
We go to sleep knowing
Tomorrow you are there

Your absence seems impossible
Now that your absence is no more

The day all of us fear
Cannot disappear
So it comes, as we knew it would
The footsteps you take
As you exit the room
Are the last we will see
For what seems like eternity

Your absence is remembered
Now that your presence is no more

Tinman

Author's Note: This piece is based upon an independant book i just finished, titled Dirty Little Lies. The character I am writing in is a girl who thought she was being stalked by a boy named Ben. She was run over by a car and believes he did it, although it was not proven. She has gone a little crazy and started stalking his girfriend, desperate to get back at him, that is why this piece is a little creepy. I do not know what form this is in, it is fiction, but I changed up the regular paragrah form to make it more dramatic. I hope you enjoy anyway!

Ben.

There he is, sitting on the bench. Is he looking at me?

No.

         No.

                  No.

don’t look back, back at his greedy eyes that stare into mine, the ones that freeze every bone in my body. I know it was him, driving the car that night, the night I slipped into a coma for three months,

all because of him.

His insane need to run me over, and how he succeeded. It was him, I know it. That silly girl doesn’t know what she is doing with him, so what if he was with her, that’s not an alibi, he had plenty of time to get in his aunt’s car and plow me down. I know he was following me,

I could feel it.

Some people think I’m insane, other’s think I’m right. Who else am I to blame for my grandfather’s death? All because my accident was too much for him to handle.

He will regret what he did.

Once I take something away from him, just like he did to me. My pride, my comfort,

Gone.

Now it’s his turn, to feel his heart beating through a bullet-proof vest. To put him away forever, so everyone is safe, so I am safe. I’ll take it, and never give it back,

His heart.

Degrees

Author's Note: This picture has two poems included in it, titled "Summer" and "Winter". These poems are based off of my independant book, Shiver, I just finished. It is in the veiw of one of the two main characters, Grace. They are both written for her love, Sam. Temperature is a key thing in this novel, so I wanted to write how she was feeling in both the winter and summer after she met him. Both poems are different styles, so if you don't take your time reading them they might seem confusing. The message really sinks in if you take your time reading it, I hope you enjoy!