We've got to live in
an infinitesimal
civilization-
Do you see?
Something was not enough
inside of me.
I'll tell you a secret
I wasn't always
s a d.
Things went from bad to worse
until finally
for a moment
sunshine fell upon me.
Then the glow faded.
There’s an empty room inside our head
In the center we planted a seed and turned our heads as it spread
We carved our names into the trunk and saw how it bled
It opened its wounds to speak and this is what it said:
All you’ve grown are hollow roots and rotten fruit and a harvest of dread
Set them free
Free from my head
We buried the grief
It grew instead
The room fell silent
The tree stood dead
There’s an empty room inside our head
“Let the page flow out of you…
Don’t make it be perfect, just let it be true.”
I don’t think it’s that simple.
I am a teenager, born in the Florida Keys
I wasn’t raised there, but rather in Tennessee
But here’s what I’m wondering - what does that actually mean?
I could tell you my name or the color of my skin
I could tell you if I was raised in church or surrounded by sin
I could tell you all about my outside, but that shows you nothing in
You’ll know nothing of my sorrow
And nothing of my joy
Internally, I’ll look hollow
Because my true self isn’t something I think you’d enjoy
It’s not easy to know someone in a way that is true
Only I know me and only you know you
I guess if there’s more “I” than I
Then that’s for me to know - a rapid supply
Of "I" will leave my mind high and dry
Or maybe just with more than I started with
Well, I couldn’t tell you who my true self is
Well, I couldn’t tell you if I’m mine or his
How many “me”s will it take for that shattered mirror to be complete?
Well, either way, what it reflects will be sweet.
What color is this page on which I write?
Well, it’s the same as my outside - white.
But there’s blue lines, too, and red as well.
There’s more than just white, as anyone can tell.
And I guess I am too!
So shall I show the colors in my head to you?
There’s black and orange and pink and blue
I could say “me” or “us” and both would be true
Well, you can know me and I can know you
And all our struggles - whether a lot or just a few
Will grow and blossom into something beautiful and new
And even after everything me and my colors have been through
We’ll never give up on each other - yeah, that’s true!
So I guess I could be me
But I could also be he
Or I could be she
Whatever I am, I’ll always be a part of we
Yeah, this is my page
My page for poetry.
Editors Note: This poem was based off of "Theme for English B" by Langston Hughes. You'll see a bit of that inspiration reflected in here!
You breathe out and
cigarette smoke
swirls
in the air
stars twinkling through
the gray mist.
It is cold
and silent
out here on the slanted roof.
The rough shingles
dig into my flesh
as I cling to them
for fear of falling.
You pace casually along the precipice
cigarette in hand
and tell me for the hundredth time
that you will run away soon
and leave it all behind -
the cold silence
and the rough shingles
and the person who sits atop them
watching you lie to yourself
through smoke and gray stars.