It’s 10 pm on a cold-for-California winter night, and there’s nothing I want to do more than to leave the ice cream shop. I drag the mop along the floor behind me, letting its weight act as an excuse for my lack of movement.

Hey, I miss you

School started yesterday and
I really couldn’t stand
You not being there

They had a pasta bar in the cafeteria
The germs wouldn’t mesh well with your hypochondria,
But the butter noodles were okay

Tissues.
Litter my floor.
Scraps of Paper.
Crumpled and overflowing my recycling bin.
Eraser bits.
Cover my desk until the pale wood looks black.

A class clown attempted murder today.
A mother’s little boy,
a child’s best friend,
a teacher’s beloved terror,
stood over the monster who raised his freckly faced son
like the animal he’d become,
clutching a knife.

Snow is deceiving. It likes to play hard-to-get. Like so many other things in life, I have developed a love-hate relationship with the whole idea of snow. The “dog days” of summer reach their finale, the leaves start falling, and everyone excitedly awaits the first snowfall.

Standing on this stage, my life flashing before
My eyes, I remember a time of Youthful
Bliss where the impossible was possible.

Singing sweet melodies to Snow White and
The Wicked Witch, six with fans hanging
On to my every Judy Garland high note.

What is the point of pep rallies? Is anyone actually, genuinely enthusiastic? I find it much easier to believe that, seeing as we’re teenagers, we’re all just faking it, in an ironic sort of way.

***

Walking down
The hall of my high school,
The stares,
Judging,
The whispers,
Telling lies of the truth,
Tears cause by,
Always and forever,
Gone,
Hurt by you,
Love turning to hate,
The drama,
Coming alive,

Marina Green had always been the epitome of normal. She got good grades, but they were nothing phenomenal. She was pretty enough, but no great beauty. She had friends (did one count?), but was nowhere near a social butterfly.

Kids can’t win.   

I walk through halls, the halls of a school. 
It’s a lot different than it was
Just five weeks ago.

I now know quite a few kids now,
They thought of me as the new kid,
The outsider, I don’t know if they still do.

I am an ordinary school girl,
I have homework,
I have assignments,
I have essays,
and I have tests.

“Take all the time you need,”
They said.
But now I’d much rather be in bed,
Because I’m 76 today.
My life is beginning to fade away.
“Take all the time you need,”
They said.
I hope you’re happy.
Now I’m dead.

If time could be measured in words
I would handwrite novels until my knuckles bled
Analyze every single piece written by Steven King twice
Type poems so complex so that the meaning gets lost
Construct every screenplay to give you the ending you deserve