POEM 5 (Have read most of these in class; four to go)
*I Can’t Eat Cereal With a Fork (Vinny W)
I once smoked a cigarette that I found on the floor
of a drug dealer’s house while I was on a bender.
The paper was dirty and it was rolled loosely.
It was a menthol. I don’t smoke menthols
but I smoked it anyway, wondering where it could
have come from, whose pack it fell out of.
The floor was dirty, full of ash and mysterious powders
spiraling all together into a tie-dyed mess
resembling the shirts draped over the broken door
next to the kitchen sink that was only halfway installed.
How did I end up in this place? Did I drive myself here?
And where was I supposed to go next? I was feeling
I once smoked a cigarette that I found on the floor
of a drug dealer’s house while I was on a bender.
The paper was dirty and it was rolled loosely.
It was a menthol. I don’t smoke menthols
but I smoked it anyway, wondering where it could
have come from, whose pack it fell out of.
The floor was dirty, full of ash and mysterious powders
spiraling all together into a tie-dyed mess
resembling the shirts draped over the broken door
next to the kitchen sink that was only halfway installed.
How did I end up in this place? Did I drive myself here?
And where was I supposed to go next? I was feeling
hungry. I had six boxes of cereal at home but no milk
and only one plastic fork. I can’t eat a cigarette.
and only one plastic fork. I can’t eat a cigarette.
Note: description as verisimilitude
Long Jaunt (Charles)
I was out on a long hike
It was a jaunt in Maine
On a mountain covered in fog
It was warm and dewy
There were forty of us
We walked for several hours
It was said to be only three
Short miles but it was more
Than four long hours we
Hiked up that rocky slope
We thought we could
Make it in no time
But the trails kept bending
With each turn came a new surprise
*Confessions of a Confidante (Maggie D.)
I don’t walk around much. Or only when necessary.
But when I do I prefer broken sidewalks
where stringy little weeds have burst through cracks
over prissy white concrete, sadistic, spoiled.
I’m like the doormat I wipe my boots on. I never
argue. I just sit there and take it.
My keyring, with its 20 rattling keychains, talks
for me when I have no words.
Lately my problem’s been that me and my friend
love each other too much to show it.
I wish I could reach out and tie our souls together
like a permanent pinkie promise. One night
recently I forgot my keys in the door and someone
made themselves at home. If only I was so brave.
When it Rains it Pours (Zoie)
As a child I was filled with many things,
dolls for apologies with accessories,
and stuffed animals for “I don’t have time.”
Other toys and treats to build on happy,
these things to the brim had me filled.
Until it overflowed, and so it spilled,
but they kept coming so it poured.
Now there are so many dolls, and kitchen toys,
and stuffed creatures, loved things but often un-thought of.
Happiness was a guarantee, I believed.
But when I was asked if they were missed,
I looked at my many things and felt empty.
Yet I kept that to myself, not speaking,
to keep guilt from growth I still spill.
Where the Quiet Almost Stays (Luis O)
I walk through a path flooded with critters and trees
swaying
I remember running through the same trail looking for somewhere to hide
Life is simple--live, love, and laugh
It was a jaunt in Maine
On a mountain covered in fog
It was warm and dewy
There were forty of us
We walked for several hours
It was said to be only three
Short miles but it was more
Than four long hours we
Hiked up that rocky slope
We thought we could
Make it in no time
But the trails kept bending
With each turn came a new surprise
But when I do I prefer broken sidewalks
where stringy little weeds have burst through cracks
over prissy white concrete, sadistic, spoiled.
I’m like the doormat I wipe my boots on. I never
argue. I just sit there and take it.
My keyring, with its 20 rattling keychains, talks
for me when I have no words.
Lately my problem’s been that me and my friend
love each other too much to show it.
I wish I could reach out and tie our souls together
like a permanent pinkie promise. One night
recently I forgot my keys in the door and someone
made themselves at home. If only I was so brave.
dolls for apologies with accessories,
and stuffed animals for “I don’t have time.”
Other toys and treats to build on happy,
these things to the brim had me filled.
Until it overflowed, and so it spilled,
but they kept coming so it poured.
Now there are so many dolls, and kitchen toys,
and stuffed creatures, loved things but often un-thought of.
Happiness was a guarantee, I believed.
But when I was asked if they were missed,
I looked at my many things and felt empty.
Yet I kept that to myself, not speaking,
to keep guilt from growth I still spill.
I remember running through the same trail looking for somewhere to hide
Life is simple--live, love, and laugh
My mind runs like a gazelle getting chased by a cheetah
I am consumed by my own thoughts
I tend to jump to conclusions and run with them
Overthinking is like reading the same page
While still not understanding the story
Again I turn to my temple
I walk the paths I once did as a child
The birds chirping and the river flowing
Relieve me of the daunting reality
I hear a chainsaw and the peace I had disappears
I am filled with anger and hatred
*Sonata of Silence (Cesar)
I enjoy silence over talking.
I sometimes wonder How could I be more social?
I really don’t love hearing people talk--
I am consumed by my own thoughts
I tend to jump to conclusions and run with them
Overthinking is like reading the same page
While still not understanding the story
Again I turn to my temple
I walk the paths I once did as a child
The birds chirping and the river flowing
Relieve me of the daunting reality
I hear a chainsaw and the peace I had disappears
I am filled with anger and hatred
*Sonata of Silence (Cesar)
I enjoy silence over talking.
I sometimes wonder How could I be more social?
I really don’t love hearing people talk--
Like a dog whistle right in your face.
Am I weird for being introverted? Like
A chained-up dog with an abusive owner. No.
Silence is enjoyable. The low vibrations,
Like a cat purring, are soothing to me.
Constant chatter is headache-inducing.
Occasionally, crowds can be fun, like being at a fair,
The laughter and smiles, the hum
Am I weird for being introverted? Like
A chained-up dog with an abusive owner. No.
Silence is enjoyable. The low vibrations,
Like a cat purring, are soothing to me.
Constant chatter is headache-inducing.
Occasionally, crowds can be fun, like being at a fair,
The laughter and smiles, the hum
of togetherness, not the voice of someone nagging.
Conversation can be aggravating.
In a crowd I find myself laughing with everyone.
In a crowd I find myself laughing with everyone.
*Where My Mind Wanders (Mar’te)
While sitting in class, the professor’s voice fades.
My mind starts exploring like a great adventurer,
searching for a lost treasure. I started thinking
what I might eat later, how my day will
go, thinking outside the literal box that is the classroom
I am sitting in. It’s not that I do not care for what is being said
in the moment. It’s just that something always seems
to pull my attention outside of the box I am in. Sometimes
I feel like a horse being wrangled by a cowboy. I Long
forever for anyone. There is a voice that always calls
and yanks me back into reality, maybe bringing me
back to where I could be instead of where I want to be.
for the good times in the past. I would love to go back
to again.
Though good times and one’s drifting attention cannot last
note: replaced should w could in last line.
My mind starts exploring like a great adventurer,
searching for a lost treasure. I started thinking
what I might eat later, how my day will
go, thinking outside the literal box that is the classroom
I am sitting in. It’s not that I did not care for what was being said
to me at that moment, but something always seems
to pull my attention towards random thoughts. Sometimes
I feel like a horse being wrangled by a cowboy. Longing for old
days and fun times that I would love to go back to again.
Though, the good times and attention drifting cannot last,
forever for anyone. There is a voice that is always calls
and yanks me back into reality, maybe bringing me
back to where I should be instead of where I want to be.
*Champagne Weather (Francine Coffer)
I went to class like any other day.
It started when we were given free time--
the volleyball girls were talking about homework,
the football guys about the game.
I was just a wallflower, reading my phone.
Soon I felt a drip hit my head
and looked up to see water crawling into the room--
something others weren't paying attention to (like neglectful parents).
Instead, they pulled out megaphones,
the desks starting to float like they were ice in a glass.
My air and voice were being stolen from me,
but it wasn’t water that took it like a thief in the night,
The culprit was my brain. It told me the volume was loud.
It told me that I was drowning and yet
It was the one holding a knife to my throat.
It started when we were given free time--
the volleyball girls were talking about homework,
the football guys about the game.
I was just a wallflower, reading my phone.
Soon I felt a drip hit my head
and looked up to see water crawling into the room--
something others weren't paying attention to (like neglectful parents).
Instead, they pulled out megaphones,
the desks starting to float like they were ice in a glass.
My air and voice were being stolen from me,
but it wasn’t water that took it like a thief in the night,
The culprit was my brain. It told me the volume was loud.
It told me that I was drowning and yet
It was the one holding a knife to my throat.
with my mom. The windows were closed.
The air was warm. The radio was off.
I sat next to my mom as she drove
and we talked. I asked her, “What
do you think I should do?”
“It is your choice, but I think
you need to let go.” I didn’t respond.
How was I to let go? How could I just
give up on it? Abandon it as we do our
scraps of unfinished food. Abandon it like
it were simply a piece of trash in our way. How
do we look at something that is us and
give it up, no longer to see who we are?
——————————————————————————
I’m not a very mellow soul, despite
my presentations. But once, on this night
in a quiet place known as Tamarack,
the night sky held back the blur of my brain.
Awakened from a slumber in a backup bike-tent—
a consequence of my jumbled conscience—
I’d risen to see the Milky Way, clear as clear can be.
It couldn’t have been 5 am., a few clouds in sight--
much like realizing your glasses are dirty
only after you’ve taken a cloth to them.
Stars, satellites, a plane or two flew overhead,
bound east out of Chicago (southeast of Tamarack),
like an ash cloud from an eruption choking out
all life underneath though with stars of its own overhead.
note--Cs, Bs, Ts, slant and direct rhymes, mutes...
Emotion on the Hour (Lilly)
I sat on the bench in the dugout at Baker Park
like a spewed-out lemon from a toddler,
sour and a mess upon myself.
My mother and father on the way but about a
day late and a dollar short.
I was wondering why I couldn’t just cheer
up and be happy with my teammates.
I was feeling like a stupid human in the midst
of a haunted maze of ghosts.
The rotten baseball never got thrown back,
mocking me as I walked by.
Laughing and pointing as if I were the one in
the wrong place and did not belong.
*Concrete Room (Natalie)
Unfamiliar faces line the crowded, worn-down concrete
room.
The music is loud yet not loud enough to stop my spiraling thoughts.
I’m not sure anyone else in the room has any, like anchors trying to float.
I’m pulled to my friend by the need for connection.
Strangers around me do the same, drinks in hand that taste like hazardous
like a spewed-out lemon from a toddler,
sour and a mess upon myself.
My mother and father on the way but about a
day late and a dollar short.
I was wondering why I couldn’t just cheer
up and be happy with my teammates.
I was feeling like a stupid human in the midst
of a haunted maze of ghosts.
The rotten baseball never got thrown back,
mocking me as I walked by.
Laughing and pointing as if I were the one in
the wrong place and did not belong.
The music is loud yet not loud enough to stop my spiraling thoughts.
I’m not sure anyone else in the room has any, like anchors trying to float.
I’m pulled to my friend by the need for connection.
Strangers around me do the same, drinks in hand that taste like hazardous
waste.
I’m pulled again to the hole where a curtain hangs where a door used to be,
I’m pulled again to the hole where a curtain hangs where a door used to be,
fresh air out of reach.
The cops are outside, because they have to be.
They turn a blind eye as girls stumble out, speaking in tongues.
The pull keeps me stuck, like being trapped in a riptide, water filling
They turn a blind eye as girls stumble out, speaking in tongues.
The pull keeps me stuck, like being trapped in a riptide, water filling
my lungs.
Colorful strobe lights hit my eyes like hail,
Yet the DJ seems right at home in his corner.
To my left, what my friend had is replaced with a wall.
It is adorned with graffiti tags and bright pink pieces of gum left as evidence
Colorful strobe lights hit my eyes like hail,
Yet the DJ seems right at home in his corner.
To my left, what my friend had is replaced with a wall.
It is adorned with graffiti tags and bright pink pieces of gum left as evidence
of our many previous nights out.
**A Study on Heredity (Spud)
Sometimes, in the dark, I go back to the pier
at Pike’s Place Market, to the man
and his handmade wares in the early morning.
He only took cash and I only had a card--
I told him I’d be back but I would never return. Sometimes
I think I’m becoming my father, a dried-up sponge,
selfish and greedy, drinking everything up.
A destructive trail of unfinished projects
leaving broken promises in my wake. The smell
of the sea has been replaced by coffee-scented candles,
a series of empty words on my tongue. The water
at Pike’s Place Market, to the man
and his handmade wares in the early morning.
He only took cash and I only had a card--
I told him I’d be back but I would never return. Sometimes
I think I’m becoming my father, a dried-up sponge,
selfish and greedy, drinking everything up.
A destructive trail of unfinished projects
leaving broken promises in my wake. The smell
of the sea has been replaced by coffee-scented candles,
a series of empty words on my tongue. The water
gurgles, an offering for me to follow through
on something for the first and final time.
**DEVOTION OF RIGID SERVICE (Gracie)
I tie up my hair, grab my notepad and a pen,
Walk over the floor that holds grease, water, and fear
Menus are gathered, all washed of regrets
There are bells ringing, decisions and names forgotten
Shouting and fire are spewing from the kitchen
I’m counting the minutes off the clock on the wall,
The tables asking for mercy and more water
I balance cups, trays, and smiles,
Carry plates like fragile arguments,
Silverware bouncing off the floor
The walls in this room feel like they are closing in
The windows show reflections of the day
Outside, the trees practice being trees
I leave with stains on my clothes and quiet feet
Walk over the floor that holds grease, water, and fear
Menus are gathered, all washed of regrets
There are bells ringing, decisions and names forgotten
Shouting and fire are spewing from the kitchen
I’m counting the minutes off the clock on the wall,
The tables asking for mercy and more water
I balance cups, trays, and smiles,
Carry plates like fragile arguments,
Silverware bouncing off the floor
The walls in this room feel like they are closing in
The windows show reflections of the day
Outside, the trees practice being trees
I leave with stains on my clothes and quiet feet
Have not done poems below this line yet
*Countryside (Olivia)
I recall sitting out on the back porch
listening to the sounds of nature,
peaceful and scenic, like birds
singing in a Disney film. Taking it all in,
I realized how uncomfortable I was
with silence, searching for anything to fill
the emptiness of space. Feeling like I lived
I recall sitting out on the back porch
listening to the sounds of nature,
peaceful and scenic, like birds
singing in a Disney film. Taking it all in,
I realized how uncomfortable I was
with silence, searching for anything to fill
the emptiness of space. Feeling like I lived
my
days as a fugitive, unable to rest. If
I cared to listen,
I might hear the wood beneath me whispering.
Cattle crying, cars shaking, leaves talking,
things I don't recognize often. Then my mom
called me inside for a ritualistic dinner but when
I went through the door she wasn't there.
I might hear the wood beneath me whispering.
Cattle crying, cars shaking, leaves talking,
things I don't recognize often. Then my mom
called me inside for a ritualistic dinner but when
I went through the door she wasn't there.
*
L sounds. Interesting, the suggestion that the sounds of nature, as both metaphor and a literal, existing presence, replaces the family in this moment. It's open and ambiguous to some extent but very suggestive.
Fading Presence – By: Pancho Garza
I pulled onto the familiar solid tan ground.
The stars and moon shimmered through cold and crisp air.
I breathed as deep as my exhausted body would let me
Like a weary thud that signals the end of a journey.
Tension quickly slipped from mind and body
Like a frog jumping from fear and hunger,
Quickly settling into the comfort of mud in the creak.
Hibernating into the pile of blankets.
Refusing any external action that may disturb me.
With steps and thuds ring around me.
A presence observes me as though examining for more.
I could tell there was something near but did not care for what.
For I could not care what could happen next.
As the only thing left to me was weight.
Childhood Sorrow (Marisol)
Pulling out my sandwich as I get ready to settle on a
bench
Squirrels running around and birds watching my every
Move. Carelessly dropping crumbs, I see birds taking them
To their babies. All I can think about is the stress I’m about
To go through once I took out all of the assignment sheets
And set my pencils and highlighters down.
I hear birds chirping and kids screaming joyfully, your typical
Nature sounds. I feel trapped like an animal in a shelter cage
Awaiting to be released. I’m confused about my next steps
In life. As I’m reaching back into my consciousness
I see a kid running towards me, launching a toy
Telling me to relax and to play with the rest of the kids.
I yearn for the feeling of childhood again as I start my life
Full of stress.
*Serendipity Is Gone (Jaelyn)
The most me I ever was was at eleven years old,
Sitting in my best friend's living room, thriving,
As if I was a dog reveling in being with the people
It loves most in the world. My best friend’s couch
Was a place where I could be as loud as a goose squawking
At people walking by, though in a fun way, not in an angry
Way. When I think of those times I can only wonder
Why I was the way I was. Imagining myself back then
Is like watching a monkey dance around at a circus.
Perhaps I was just snatched up by the hands of
Self-consciousness and embarrassment, unable
To soar like a swan above the water any longer.
I feel the surface shift below me, and I fall down
Through a crack in the couch and into the dark,
Because we are no longer friends.
The self-consciousness of adulthood (awareness of conformity, etc.) Lost friendship somehow due to this whole judgment thing connected to growing up.
Reflective and Rational (Lexi)
I sit lonely in my room; well, my dog is here too.
I stare at the wall thinking about all the things I
I need to get done to accomplish my dreams in life.
From daily tasks to far future goals. As I replenish
My brain on all the things I have already accomplished
Rather than what els I have to get done just to put my
mind at ease. I check off boxes in my head of the list.
I tell myself I need to do my homework and get it in by
Tonight. I need to set an alarm for work tomorrow. I
I need to wash my laundry for the week. I also need
to take my dog outside before bed. Then I go over
The things I need to do at work. I check a box off for
retail, trash, and mop. I stop thinking because its
beginning to be too much. I'm always stressed out.
*Forever Thinking (Ava)
I open the sliding door, and see the never-ending lake--
I pulled onto the familiar solid tan ground.
The stars and moon shimmered through cold and crisp air.
I breathed as deep as my exhausted body would let me
Like a weary thud that signals the end of a journey.
Tension quickly slipped from mind and body
Like a frog jumping from fear and hunger,
Quickly settling into the comfort of mud in the creak.
Hibernating into the pile of blankets.
Refusing any external action that may disturb me.
With steps and thuds ring around me.
A presence observes me as though examining for more.
I could tell there was something near but did not care for what.
For I could not care what could happen next.
As the only thing left to me was weight.
Squirrels running around and birds watching my every
Move. Carelessly dropping crumbs, I see birds taking them
To their babies. All I can think about is the stress I’m about
To go through once I took out all of the assignment sheets
And set my pencils and highlighters down.
I hear birds chirping and kids screaming joyfully, your typical
Nature sounds. I feel trapped like an animal in a shelter cage
Awaiting to be released. I’m confused about my next steps
In life. As I’m reaching back into my consciousness
I see a kid running towards me, launching a toy
Telling me to relax and to play with the rest of the kids.
I yearn for the feeling of childhood again as I start my life
Full of stress.
The most me I ever was was at eleven years old,
Sitting in my best friend's living room, thriving,
As if I was a dog reveling in being with the people
It loves most in the world. My best friend’s couch
Was a place where I could be as loud as a goose squawking
At people walking by, though in a fun way, not in an angry
Way. When I think of those times I can only wonder
Why I was the way I was. Imagining myself back then
Is like watching a monkey dance around at a circus.
Perhaps I was just snatched up by the hands of
Self-consciousness and embarrassment, unable
To soar like a swan above the water any longer.
I feel the surface shift below me, and I fall down
Through a crack in the couch and into the dark,
Because we are no longer friends.
I stare at the wall thinking about all the things I
I need to get done to accomplish my dreams in life.
From daily tasks to far future goals. As I replenish
My brain on all the things I have already accomplished
Rather than what els I have to get done just to put my
mind at ease. I check off boxes in my head of the list.
I tell myself I need to do my homework and get it in by
Tonight. I need to set an alarm for work tomorrow. I
I need to wash my laundry for the week. I also need
to take my dog outside before bed. Then I go over
The things I need to do at work. I check a box off for
retail, trash, and mop. I stop thinking because its
beginning to be too much. I'm always stressed out.
boats, water, trees, people, and houses.
I have a view out the back door, the expanse of the mountain.
As a passenger on a boat somewhere on a lake in Tennessee,
I'm aware, moving across open water, of the drift of my thoughts.
I will forever be a thinker.
On the water nothing much matters, except what the sun's UV rays do.
Every boat floats a different conversation.
I feel like one of the trees lining the water,
listening and watching like a security camera.
I examine all the houses like a doctor examines their patients
thinking about each person in each house.
“Do you want a sandwich?” someone asks, disrupting my thoughts.
I have a view out the back door, the expanse of the mountain.
As a passenger on a boat somewhere on a lake in Tennessee,
I'm aware, moving across open water, of the drift of my thoughts.
I will forever be a thinker.
On the water nothing much matters, except what the sun's UV rays do.
Every boat floats a different conversation.
I feel like one of the trees lining the water,
listening and watching like a security camera.
I examine all the houses like a doctor examines their patients
thinking about each person in each house.
“Do you want a sandwich?” someone asks, disrupting my thoughts.
How place can be a portal to awakening, being elsewhere, so to speak...
Swinging of the Strings (Yesier) (should be 14 lines--15 now)
Sitting in the swaying chair
Feeling the breeze of the room's AC
The different sets of wood colors surrounding me like I'm in the forest
Feeling the guitars screaming to make noise in this quiet room
Sets of guitars lined up not knowing which one to pick
As I look around the room I see a guitar that spoke words to me
As I pick it up, I can feel the strings vibrating notes that sound angelic
I hold this guitar in my hands and I begin to strum
I begin to realize that I am like this guitar in my hands
Strumming as free as an eagle in the sky on a summer day
So much tension built up for it to disappear as soon as the chords swing
The beauty in how free a moving thing can be
Nothing in my life felt as free as that moment
Constantly caged by shackles of anxiety and fear of what might happen
As the strings begin to swing back and forth I begin to swing my shackles away
*Prelude to Puberty (Haley)
I went out on a branch in the Climbing Tree--
A lone limb that was perfect for a small creature to perch--
But I was trying too hard to be aware of the space I took up, and so I felt awkward,
Stubby and too wide, like an egg balanced on two chopsticks.
I feared the hundred-year-old branch might snap under the weight of my body
Yet it was the pointed end of my foot that slipped off the bark.
The ground did not yield to me...
I wanted to believe I was a too-big problem in a very small world
But soon found my temple in a patch of spring onions,
The curly green ends never having wondered how much space they'd previously
Sitting in the swaying chair
Feeling the breeze of the room's AC
The different sets of wood colors surrounding me like I'm in the forest
Feeling the guitars screaming to make noise in this quiet room
Sets of guitars lined up not knowing which one to pick
As I look around the room I see a guitar that spoke words to me
As I pick it up, I can feel the strings vibrating notes that sound angelic
I hold this guitar in my hands and I begin to strum
I begin to realize that I am like this guitar in my hands
Strumming as free as an eagle in the sky on a summer day
So much tension built up for it to disappear as soon as the chords swing
The beauty in how free a moving thing can be
Nothing in my life felt as free as that moment
Constantly caged by shackles of anxiety and fear of what might happen
As the strings begin to swing back and forth I begin to swing my shackles away
A lone limb that was perfect for a small creature to perch--
But I was trying too hard to be aware of the space I took up, and so I felt awkward,
Stubby and too wide, like an egg balanced on two chopsticks.
I feared the hundred-year-old branch might snap under the weight of my body
Yet it was the pointed end of my foot that slipped off the bark.
The ground did not yield to me...
I wanted to believe I was a too-big problem in a very small world
But soon found my temple in a patch of spring onions,
The curly green ends never having wondered how much space they'd previously
occupied,
Never a burden to the grass beside them.
I stood, brushing away the bits of dried grass that clung to my pants.
I expected a prepubescent girl-shaped crater to have formed where I had lain
But the small onion sprigs sprung back as though I were never there.
Never a burden to the grass beside them.
I stood, brushing away the bits of dried grass that clung to my pants.
I expected a prepubescent girl-shaped crater to have formed where I had lain
But the small onion sprigs sprung back as though I were never there.
“Faith of a mustard seed” (Nehemiah)
I dream of many things, but a God-centered life is my biggest one
A Ephesians 5:25 kind of man
A I love you like Christ loved the church kind of man
There's nothing like having God in the center of your life
Life full of real love and not lust a life of real joy and happiness
People think following Christ is easy but it's hard trying to live right where you're born in sin
You experience things you think you could avoid
God takes you to placesylu couldn't even imagine
God said no weapon formed against me shall prosper not that they wouldn't form
Falling to my knees in the midst of it all
Trusting God and being that prayer warrior
Fasting to hear and get closer to God
Waiting till marriage and giving my children back to Christ
I wouldn't want it no other way
God having full control of my life
The faith of a mustard seed
A Lost Strange Place (Mar'te)
I’m not really sure how I ended up
in a place like this. There were barely any
shadows in this place, as the Sun
acted like some type of spotlight on everything
surrounding the area. The “residents”, at least
that’s all I can call them… barely seem aware of where
they are. Their movements and steps are noiseless, and
it’s almost like they’re moving underwater. The
faces don’t even feel real. The expressions feel
painted on or as if everyone is wearing a
mask. I begin to wonder maybe to them I might
look and behave just as strange as I
make them out to be. To them my movements
could be swift, like fast-forwarding a tape.
The buildings around me have no names, signs
that are blank and no one seems to even
want to go into any of them. Are any of
them going somewhere? This place feels lost
and everyone here are just aimless.
I’m not really sure how I ended up
in a place like this. There were barely any
shadows in this place, as the Sun
acted like some type of spotlight on everything
surrounding the area. The “residents”, at least
that’s all I can call them… barely seem aware of where
they are. Their movements and steps are noiseless, and
it’s almost like they’re moving underwater. The
faces don’t even feel real. The expressions feel
painted on or as if everyone is wearing a
mask. I begin to wonder maybe to them I might
look and behave just as strange as I
make them out to be. To them my movements
could be swift, like fast-forwarding a tape.
The buildings around me have no names, signs
that are blank and no one seems to even
want to go into any of them. Are any of
them going somewhere? This place feels lost
and everyone here are just aimless.
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