Category: 11th

The endless sound of song rings with the grace of light
The muse of song grazed my hands, asking for chapters
Yet to come

Filling the air of grace and love, filling my lungs with pride and shame
The song cleansed my impure soul, freed me from the ties of hearts
Life can begin a chapter of new

Reflections of the past. so clear so old still haunt this very soul
Lessons were taught, and lessons were learned

This new chapter will burn, but I will still hold.

The muse of song burns with me
The burning song of life must be heard
The muse won’t let me waste a song
The endless song holds all songs
My song wont be a waste
so keep the song endless
for I want to hear your song

So wise so strong, so weak so small
Rise from ash, rise from the sea
But fell from hate. Fell for love
Don’t cry, don’t weep
Love is strong, love is weak
A flowers burning passion must not grow weak
A rare beauty, a flower of passion
The color of grace, the pride of shine
Something foretold the flowers’ grace
But The greed of love held the endless sadness
And ate the grace and took the shine
Rise from hate, rise from betrayal
A rare beauty must be strong
So do Look ahead,
the sun’s your passion
the moon your elegance
The rain will heal a broken flower
But a flower of passion needs a new love
Find new ground, leave the polluted soil and look to
The other side
A flower of passion is not alone
A flower of passion has a home

To reflect
To look back
Oh to look forward!
To stare
Until the eyes begin to droop
The nose falling to the left
Mouth slipping down the chin
To distort

To stare at the distortion, knowing deep down it is you
but being unable to recognize
Unable to tear your gaze away

A future in the reflection
To step inside
To grab
To hold
To cradle
Such a delicate future

Oh to have a guarantee!
To know for certain that it awaits

Yet the distortion creeps further apart
A reflection of something yet to come
If it comes at all

To look back
Unwilling to look forward

Where I’m from…

I am from wash rags,
From dish soap and pans.
I am from the pile of wood behind the house.
(Normal logs had the aroma of rotten eggs.)
I am from the blue bonnets,
The oak tree
What was once my playscape
As if it was my jungle gym.

I am from sam which photos and blonde hair
From Liana and Joe Bob
I’m from eating together and being ajar
And from learning together.
I’m from working diligently and no eating grass
And honesty is the best policy.
I’m from Family Heirlooms.

I am from Albuquerque, New Mexico, and Leander, Texas
And from Cajun Chicken Pasta and Corn chip tacos.
From a remarkable dad
The most obnoxious but caring person on this planet
I am from those moments-
The laughing, the crying, and everything else-
All in four walls

Little, black, and hairy, that’s Lucas.
The most friendly dog anyone could ever meet.
His little face lights up the whole room.
His teeth rip apart toys.
Dumber than a nut, but smart enough to know the word “treat”.
Lucas is like a little teddy bear that just sits on your bed all day.
Nothing makes me happier than having him by my side.
Little, black, and hairy, that’s Lucas!

The leaves falling.
The wind blowing.
The smell of pumpkin spice.
The pumpkin patches are open and scarecrows are out.
The most important football teams playing on the TV screens.
The beautiful colors that come with this exquisite season.

Blurred visions of pink and waves
The soothing aroma of sunday afternoon flower fields
Sugary ripe flavor dusting your tastebuds
Rose water pours out of its bottle
The rose water stream seeps into the grass

I am starting to remember how
The hospital lived inside of me.
and despite the anesthesia telling me
that this was peaceful solitude
My mind was never at peace
Falling through those god-forsaken words,
You will be okay.

I would hear about sick children
On the news
With bold, red text highlighting their disease.
But this time?
It happened to me.

The sharp air only ripples
A little bit, when someone screams
From down the hall.

And everything is plain. White. Serene.

For a time, there was a boy lying almost dead
In a torn hospital bed adjacent to mine.
I could hear his thoughts sometimes
Whirring in his mind like a sad tune
Everything echoing off of the nauseatingly bright
white walls.

I asked him one day
To stitch his skin
Into mine
To share our flesh.

No
the doctor says
That boy is dead.
Heart failure, she said.

I slowly turn my head.
Syringes scattered across the floor
Beads of dark blood oozing from the needle.
His skin, slowly turning into
A pale rag, a damp sickly rag
That someday, nurses will hold
And think nothing of.

I wake up the next morning
With anxiety medication
Coursing through my body.
Through my brain.

Is it over? I want it to stop. I want everything to stop.
I’d pray to God to leave this place.
But I know I have wished far too late.

Why have we been wronged?
We live in a society that takes
and takes
and takes.
I want to be given the rights I deserve,
So many wins and loses.
So many changes.

My life of 16 years has lead to this passing moment,
the seconds pass by,
so easily forgotten.
Only some are burned into my memory.
They pop up as frequently as a passing breeze,
There one moment,
gone the next.

When I was younger,
I moved around to different states,
different countries,
different continents.
I have seen cultures that have prospered,
and some that are ruined.
Each one forging a new perspective of my world.

Let me escape with the rest of the luck I have.
With words,
With letters,
From some random language.
My mind is constantly consumed
by worlds that will never exist
With people that were never real.

I cry for my game,
I feel so deeply for a thing that I run for,
bleed for,
hurt for.
I despise everything that makes me feel like this,
But I play to feel some triumph
In life, in my mind.

Noises constantly in the background,
Songs,
Voices,
Music.
I love every word spoken that tells me
‘I understand you’
In a million different ways.

My society rips away anything I could hold close,
No empathy,
No sorry’s,
They give me a lollipop,
Say ‘A band-aid can fix it!’
As I sit in my grief with no other hope of escaping.
I understand the world and everything it takes.

Creaking in the walls
A step down the halls

I feel as if I’m being watched

Turn
Blinking, searching, what am I looking for?
There’s nothing there

Facing forward in the still air
Only to hear a creak in my chair

Turn
Glancing, looking, searching
I know it was my chair; why do I have to look?

Staring;
Watching;
I feel like I’m being watched

What do I do?

Breathe

Who’s there?

Breathe

What’s going on?

Breathe

Silence,
The panic is gone