Poetry

Thursday, September 11, 2014

I sit with my notebook open

and my pen hovering over the lined page,

but nothing happens.

I stare at the page until the lines

transform into wiggly shapes and images.

I touch my pen to the page

until there is a tiny pool of ink

seeping into the otherwise empty page. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I shove the little white pieces into my ears
as the music blares,
attempting to drown out the morning.
I step outside,
squinting into the young sun.

I walk quickly past a group 
of over made up freshman.
One of them makes eye contact with me 
before I look down at my shoes.

I almost trip over a tree root 
as I make my way through the grass.
A pine needle gets stuck
in my shoe.
God, why are there so many pine needles?

I hop down a flight of stairs
and through old, French doors.
I stopped outside of room 111
I breathe, 
reminding myself that I like this class.
I pull the white pieces from my ears,
and throw myself into the wolves.