I used to bounce life on the tips of my fingers
like a beach ball
it felt so weightless
and forgetfully empty
the abounding ocean spread before me - sleeping on it like a blanket - soft and lulling
but also able to sweep the ball away
the current - set and predetermined
never knowing when you'll be engulfed
but hey
that's life at the beach.
My tiny red sailboat carrying me through
helping me escape from the processes of death
and avoid the reality of my emotions,
my situation,
and my choices.
Why else would I think it's ok
to wake up everyday
get stoned out of my mind
and drive myself and her to school.
President of the social studies honors society and LGBT club
Math
English
Spanish
and Theatre Honors Society member.
She strolls in everyday, sporting sweatpants 2 sizes too big
the same jacket she's worn for the past 2 years..
(it kinda smells like smoke but Mr. Miller is too nice to say anything)
She takes her seat alone in the front left corner of the room,
lays her head on her forearm,
facing the front
sometimes dozing, sometimes not
and remains this way for the next hour and a half.
She takes AP psych quizzes and she defines "trauma,"
not really thinking about the fact that she's living it.
But life at sea can do that to you
We forget where we are and what time it is
and just like that your ball is gone
along with your youth.
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