I have a few issues.
I’m always stressed,
I procrastinate and
I’m ignorant.
It takes too much time for me
To process information.
I hide emotions because
They can be too complicated.
Sometimes I feel too
Mature for my own good,
And high school science
Isn’t really my strong suit.
But I don’t care.
Because I’m still happy,
Positive, formal,
and caring.
I have a few issues.
But who doesn’t?
Despite my flaws,
I like who I am.
Goodbye sweet football,
Oh how you’ll be missed,
The Friday night lights,
And the knockout hits,
Title: Yearning for a Football Autumn
It’s hard to project my feelings on the finishing of the fall,
One part of me is happy to be free,
But the other is not at all,
I have to come to terms that my favorite sport is over,
A longing feeling sinks to my shoulders,
I should be happy for it,
I can spend time with friends,
But here comes the thought, time and time again,
There will be no more jokes cracked at the team dinner table,
For those were the last days we were actually enabled,
To suit up after school and go to work,
With a sense of great pride, even though it may have hurt,
And some days we would question if it was worth,
The hours and the effort we put in with no immediate return,
Yet, on fridays that all changed,
We were silent and collected,
The stands were roaring, fan’s voices projected,
We would run out ready to try for a win,
Because we know we’d never all play together again
Let them be as butterflies
always flying around freely
but never able to change.
I’d rather be a caterpillar,
small and growing like
a sproutling.
To have a life to look forward to,
to live for myself instead of others.
To be able to explore the world
or grow to become something beautiful.
I’d rather be ugly and invisible, and
stomped on and ignored,
than to be admired for gracefully flying in the wind
where they put on a show,
fluttering about.
I’d rather be frail and stuck to the ground
than pretty and free-flying.
If I could grow and learn about the world,
I’d rather be a caterpillar.
my tired eyes are met with strange lines and planes
that fumble together into the shape of a room
there are deep violet shadows that stain the walls
and heat casts an uncomfortable glow
the bed is scraped bare and the closet gapes empty
its black mouth bare of teeth
after a while, i press my cold fingers to eyes that do not wish to see
and when my lashes open, the fog has faded gentley
the window pane has been painted with care
the color of robin eggs and cream
golden light in the morning finds it’s way
through the thickest screen
and the violet stains on my wall
were merley a trick of the eye
When you’re a kid,
they ask you
“where are you supposed to be?”
And you tell them
through tears,
“I can’t find my mom”.
Embarrassed
you turn around and say
“sorry wrong classroom”,
or just stammer
“I
d-don’t
know”.
When you’re a kid,
they don’t care how you respond,
because you’re innocent
and
allowed to make mistakes.
When you’re older,
they say it differently.
“Where are you supposed to be?”
As if you’re always in the
wrong place;
because instead of doing homework,
you’re with your friends
trying to escape
the stress,
the anxiety, the
pain.
Because they want you to be in
medical school,
but you can barely
pass high school.
They crush you with expectations
and all you know how to do is
crumble
under them.
Or maybe
you start to ask yourself that,
because you look around
and no one looks like you,
no one acts like you,
everyone is more put together
than you.
You realize you
don’t belong
anywhere
“where are you supposed to be?”
“I don’t know.
I’m lost.”
Can’t you see that?
You light up my world.
You help me see the things
that are right in front of me
You outline my path
and create shadows along it
You turn on when you are told
like an obedient dog waiting for a treat
You stand like a statue in a museum
waiting for the opening hours to come.
When the power fails,
so do you
When we are gone,
so is your purpose
When the nighttime comes,
you are awakened
When we forget to turn you off,
you scorch with anger
And then you burn out
because you have worked too hard
And can no longer shine
The old town of Guangzhou
Falls
In stark contrast,
With its downtown.
The effect of the years
Clear to the eye
Like Son and Grandson
In the downtown,
There are
vibrant lights
From the skyline
That scatter
As it reflects off
Of the ripples
In the Pearl River But not the old town
You take the metro
And probe your way
Through
Like a mouse
In a maze
To reach
Your destination,
But not the old town.
There are
restaurants
situated on rooftops.
With chairs woven
Out of bamboo
Around wooden tables,
Lit by
Flickering candles, and
Fairy lights on drapes
That hang
From its canopy.
But not the old town.
In the old town,
There are old men
In white vests
Playing mahjong
Around raw stone tables.
There are
stores,
With white marble walls
And signs written
In unsimplified characters
Try, the spicy
ginger juice which
Crashes into
Creamy milk, this
Concoction
Leaves you
Craving
For more
There are
Tea houses
With hip-and-gable rooftops
That served people
From the last
Imperial dynasty.
Here, the sweet
And smooth
Keemun Black Tea
Leaves a malty aftertaste
And tells a tale
Of the city’s past
Do come to Guangzhou. It is a place,
That beckons
The whole world
To come over.
I relax on the wooden dock fishing
with little Jasper, thinking
not about the four-hour drive
not how the school year is starting in a few weeks
or if I will be on dish duty after dinner.
Nothing is on my mind.
Simply the tender air of the sun
mixed with the calm breeze of the lake.
We race to the floating platform and plunge
into the open water holding on to the rush.
Others join us after hearing our cries of
glee and laughter.
We have been through so much together;
through death that came too soon, through many
days and nights in this old rickety house, through storms
that almost collapsed the trees around us.
Some of us have gone, but we have stayed strong
held each other’s hands through the worst of it
and remembered the best of it.
But today while those thoughts are in the back
of our heads, we sing and dance
to the music that we create with our hearts.
In life, there is little room to be hardened with sadness
or to be so enraged that one cannot speak.
So today we are grateful for the days to come
and the ones we will spend here in this blessed place.
South of the long lake lies
A city surrounded by rock
A tower looms over the sky
Casting shadows over every block
Both lake and city are struck by storm
And thunder cracks as hail becomes thorns
Coastal waters rise and crash
As skyward islands start to quake
The calmest waves whip and thrash
And harrows the deep, blue lake
The tower stands devoid of pain
As buildings are befallen with rain
The ice cold water blitz urban sprawl
As rivers run down cracked asphalt
But bitter clouds won’t stay for long
As westerly winds push them on.
And civilization can start anew
The restart seems quite overdue