IntentionWhen I try to count my steps forwards, I find myself counting backwards. As I move North, the number goes South. I want to keep track of every step I take, as silly as it may seem. I have all the right stuff I have my sneakers, I have my shorts. I have my hat, I have my shirt. I have everything I need, but what does it matter when I count back instead of frontwards?
When I try to count my steps backwards, I find myself counting sideways. As I move South, the number goes West. I want to keep track of every step I take, as silly as that sounds. I have all the right stuff I have my sneakers, I have my shorts. I have my hat, I have my shirt. I have everything I need, but what does it matter when I count to the side instead of backwards?
When I try to walk without counting, I find myself counting. As I move East, so does the number. I wanted to keep track of every step I took, as silly as it was. I had all the right stuff I had my sneakers, I had my shorts. I had my my
And this is the way...And this is the way I listen to my music,
tapping my foot
against the leg of the table in the
pale light coming through the window,
behind the curtains,
while the rest of my class does what
all of us joined
together under the rule
of some man's vision of education,
one that entitles the person
assigned to this room
at this time,
to keep us here until a predetermined time
he owns the right to make us
use our time in a certain manner,
says the rules,
he owns the right, or rather, the power
I have the right,
to remain silent, says the rules
and so this is the way
I spend my fifth period class,
listening to music that
takes me away
to a space where I can think freely,
a place where I can express my thoughts in their
and learn about myself, because that is freedom,
and this is the way I am free.
Wake UpHe woke up to his alarm clock, but quickly turned it off. Awaking some time later, shining the time on a wall, he realized he would be late. He took a 'quick' shower, then got all his things (including his laptop bag, his binder, but most importantly, his iPod and sweater) and ran out to meet the bus. He was going to school. On the ride he listened to songs by various artists. Approaching the school, he readied to leave the bus, carrying all his many things, leaving his earphones in his ears where they would stay for the rest of the day.
Hefting himself into the school, two friends greeted to whom he replied with a shaky head. He visited his cell, then hung out by the pond. The bell said 'first period' and he floated into the Library. The next few minutes were spent staring into space. A magazine was read from a random page. Bored, he sat in the hall, music flooding the air.
Second came around and he stepped into English class. Surrounded by students of 'higher level', the closest to
Tortoise ShellThe room is white.
Lights lining the walls shine brightly, but staring doesn't hurt.
Laying peacefully, outstretched on the floor, my music plays loudly.
The spotlight shines on me, but I'm alone.
There are no shadows, but they thrive in my mind.
The room is black.
Laying on my back, I sit up, lowering my head to cradle it between my knees.
I turn my music off, but I can still hear a voice.
The darkness of my mind has become this room.
I delve into the night and dream about the light.