Wednesday, July 9, 2014

Leftovers (Alix)

Tell me what happened
when you were in sixth grade.
Were you bullied?
Tell me how your heart trembled when you heard the halls echo with a fight ringing closer...
Thrown-away sounds through the scrap-metal locker that was your prison and your promised land.
Did a shout shake the lock?
Two budget-priced pins and some hope keeping you safe.
Were you the sissy that cried?

Tell me what happened.
Were you lost?
Scraping through the gum-stuck halls, a fluorescent smog hung around your head.
Dust blowing galaxies onto starched, pressed uniforms.
Dirt vandalizing clean.
Staring back through a stolen smoke ring from a  graffitied stall: a ledger of testimonies for those with more endowment than you have.
Waiting out the days in a plastic cell.

Did you find yourself?
Did you find God?
Is that what hangs so heavy on your shoulders?
Drags your feet back to the ground whenever you try to take a step?
Was it nothing, really, that made you this way?
All grey and emptied out?
Will you tell me anything at all?

Maybe you should let it go.
Maybe you should
move on.

No comments:

Post a Comment