'They act out this play and so do I."

I haven't written poems in years. For creative writing, we had to write three poems: school, home and friends. This is what I got:

These Tiles (School)

It’s either this stall or the couch
Across the hall it calls for me
I dare whisper back
For these tiles keep me warm

Warm from the monitors that question
And the musky scent of hallway smoke
Warm from lip-sticked laughs
And choking stares I can’t ignore

It’s either this stall or the couch
Across the hall - its call will never fail
For even if I whisper back
I’ll be sitting here tomorrow on these tiles

Two Shouting Ghosts (Home)

This stone pillowcase keeps my imprint well
For I never move from this position
I never see a reason to budge

That shouting sound caresses my ear
I wish I didn’t hear it through this pillowcase
If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have budged

The top of the darkened stairway hides my shadow
Even though their shadows are two angry ghosts
I am glued to the rug below me – I wish I could budge

My eyes don’t fool me and my trembling doesn’t lie
For if those shouting ghosts saw my darkened shadow
I’d run back home to my stone pillowcase and the imprint it keeps

Truth Behind Friends

They’re real, they’re fake.
They joke, they lie.
They act out this play,
And so do I.


I've been thinking lately, even though I love my friends in Rochester - I need an escape. I've been thinking about what it would be like to move in with my big sister and nephews in Washington for a few months - across the country. It would be different - waking up to a different environment, being with my family and around people I do not know. It would be an adventure, a time I could write and write and write and figure out who I am and what I want to do.

But this is all just what's in my mind. It will never happen.