Caterpillars that hid away from the world

In their chrysalides

Now tear the casing and emerge with wings

And a vehemence I've never felt before,

Fluttering in my chest and stomach

At just the thought of you.

A mind stored with fleeting thoughts of almost everything,

And a heart stored with brief passion for almost anything,

It's nearly impossible for something to stay for long;

But now larvae

Eat away that old storage

And build a permanent home.

The kaleidoscope, with their intricate patterns,

Replay memories of you.

In unison, the sound of their flapping wings

Mimics the sound of your voice.

The flutter of them, light and delicate,

Feels like a momentary touch from you.

Swarms prevent me from swallowing food,

Swallowing knowledge in class,

Swallowing my feelings.

The swarm has swallowed me whole.

Kids rushed out of the bus and up the steps into school,

But I dawdled on the sidewalk like a fool.

I had pigtails and a backpack with dolls on it;

First day of school, and I already wanted to quit.

But a girl took my hand and lead me to class,

And even then I couldn't relax.

Fidgeting in my seat while the teacher did roll call

We each introduced ourselves to all

Of our classmates, and then I ease up,

There's new stuff to learn, we gotta keep up.

And we catch on quick to the routine

To school days and weekends in between.

Many more “first days” came after,

Some days were fun, some days were a disaster.

I outgrew the pigtails and the old uniform

And got a backpack that was more of the norm.

I got straight A’s throughout the years

And learned to make friends with my peers.

Now I’m in 11th grade,

With memories starting to fade,

And with B's and C’s for grades,

Needing glasses, and staying up too late,

But I will never forget that first day,

A moment that’s paved my future’s way.

The coming of Winter

Means the coming of Death,

Like a distant relative seen during holidays,

Knocking right at the World's door

To sweep away the leaves and blossoms

And leave everything at rest.

It means the slowing down

Of people,

Of work,

Of conversations with people

In relationships you don't

Want to be in.

It means the loss of motivation

For school,

For hobbies

For life.

Winter meant the Death of

My motivation,

My friendships,

My care.

One conflict after another,

Fighting a two-front war

Against both the world's problems

And my own psyche.

But my stubbornness is evergreen.

So with the coming of Spring,

Death will pack up its mess and leave,

Promising to call and visit again,

While Life wakes again

And gets right back to work.

Life picks up where it left off.

Life plants the seeds of

New friendships and new relationships,

And nurses the old ones back to health.

Life lets the light back in

To remind you to get up out of bed,

To get motivated again.

Life tends to the evergreens

And to the new blossoms.

They'll be taken away again by Winter,

Stand the test of Death,

But they make room for

New goals,

New relationships,

New journeys,

Every single year.

That jacket.

That ugly, green coat

Which he wears with pride every day.

He says he wears it for a reason,

For a "statement."

I hate that jacket.

It doesn't fit him,

With sleeves so long that he has to fold them over

And the hem ending just above his knees.

Lazy seams along the back and sleeves,

And twisted belt loops,

And odd shoulder snaps,

And a misshaped collar,

Will anger even the newest of sewists.

Gigantic pockets only serve as holdings

For whatever he decides to take from friends.

The color of it too,

Too dull to be boring, but bright enough to

Stick out like a sore thumb.

Stains stick out on it too.

So do smells.

I hate his jacket.

Embraces envelop me in the huge material.

Those seams become tempting to trace,

The belt loops and shoulder snaps and sleeves

Become fun to tug on.

Those pockets are too easy to take back from,

And leave a little sticker or piece of candy

In it to trade.

The stains of all the snacks shared,

And the smell of him that lingers

On my own coat.

The color of that jacket

Is all I can think of

When I hear the word

"Green."

Maybe I don't hate his jacket that much.

Maybe I don't hate him much either.

I could write

Ten thousand poems

About you -

And still,

They wouldn't have

Enough words

To describe how

Absolutely

Perfect

You are.

And so the cycle continues,

Because I never learn.

Another plan,

Another chance,

Another project or task,

So simple and easy to follow,

Yet also so easy to forget,

So easy to fail.

The weight of expectations,

The feeling of eyes, always watching,

Continues to hang over me

And judge

Every move, every mistake,

Every frustrated defeat.

It only adds to my own judgement

Of myself, of my work.

The bed and its sheets,

Thick as blubber,

Attempts at luring me into sleep.

With a shake of the head,

The thought, like a marble,

Rolls out of my mind.

I continue to work until the darkness

And the sheet swallow me whole.

I must get drunk off this feeling.

Why else would I continue

To keep myself from production,

And then binge the night before

An assignment is due?

It's better than waiting for sleep.

And so the cycle continues,

Because I cannot learn.

Surrounded by darkness,

The only source of light in this room

Is the phone screen

With your last message

Burning into my retinas.

And I'm sitting here,

Making a poor attempt at

Stifling my laughter

And trying to think of a good response.

My smile grows wider

And my face becomes hotter

With every new text you send.

Now I've fallen down the rabbit hole

That I've tumbled into so many times

And had to crawl my way out

With scraped knees and bruised arms

And dirt under my nails.

But the nights are perfect for our conversations

And indulging in this feeling of falling

Until I see you again tomorrow.

Shouldn't procrastination

And the insatiable desire

To always do absolutely perfectly

On every assignment, every single project

Balance each other out?

Shouldn't my craving

To stay in bed all day

Mourning over this very dilemma

That I write about now,

Be overshadowed by the sheer need

To do well, to impress?

Unfortunately,

They don't balance.

Nothing changes.

Except that my assignments

Are done so meticulously

That you would never even believe,

Never imagine,

That I stayed up until 12 A.M.

Finishing it.

I knew from the moment that you laughed with me at a stupid mistake I made that I could no longer consider our friendship situational, where kids in tiny, ruthless classes had to scramble to find one merciful friend, but that I now considered it fate. It's an overused word with no longer any deep meaning behind it, but when I look at our relationship, I believe it with my whole being: when you laugh, my sides and lungs hurt from the most atrocious belly-laugh; when I cry, you sob with me and comfort me through it; when you vented to me, becoming more selfish with conversations only revolving around you and tearing bits of our relationship apart, I stood by and continued to support you; when I tore into you for your words and actions, when I broke your heart, a piece of me broke too. But like a broken bone, we came back together, we apologized and learned together, and we healed to be stronger - not unbreakable - and I consider myself lucky to have met you, and grateful for the laughter, the sobbing, the insane school stories, and even to just hear about dumb, boring days.

Sentences are often left unfinished,

Words are left unsaid.

"What is-?"

"How the-?"

"When did you-?"

"No..."

What was I going to say?

Leave them guessing,

They learned context clues.