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A Bird, a Flower, and a Friend

I see a wide array of colors. Watercolor blue against bright green, mixing in together creating something beautiful.

I hear baby birds calling out to their mothers and the people I care about most, my friends, whispering next to me.

I smell the pure grass blowing in the wind, almost as if they’re waving goodbye…

I taste the cool wind, ruffling my hair, carrying me away from all reality.

I touch the cold stem of a crisp daisy between my chilled fingertips.

I feel free. Like I can fly, or do anything.

I wonder what it would be like to fly like a bird in the sky, never touching the ground.

I wish I could be a flower, swaying in the wind, never worrying about anything.

I hope I will  never lose the people I care about more than anything.

I am a bird, a flower and a friend.

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These Nine Rows

I see the white hot glare of sunshine through my eyelashes,

peering through the thick branches of the tree

looming over the neat dark green grass and me.

 

I hear the gleeful whistling

of the miniscule birds

soaring over the calming hum of the musky white golf cart.

 

I smell the springs scents

of the happily bright dandelions and mud,

plastered by our footprints

on the dull shining rows of the metal bleachers.

 

I taste the damp air

on this mild Spring morning

that reminds me of how it felt

when my lungs burned

with the salty tang of the ocean water.

 

I touch the cold, silver bleachers

chilling my legs through my black leggings,

giving me a surprisingly refreshing joyful feeling.

 

I feel my soft purple jacket,

restraining my arms from the cool breeze

that hits my pale face and enters my ears,

singing them a sharp, cunning lullaby that only makes me more awake.

 

I wonder if these nine rows of bleachers

will ever be demolished,

just another pile of dust on the flat slab of Earth.  

Crushed.  

Eliminated.  

Just like a business with no customers, pointless.

 

I wish I could feel the soft grass beneath my legs

instead of the odd metal

of the cold bleachers taking the feeling out of me.

 

I hope the grass always stays this green

and the bleachers always stay this cold

because this Spring air is too good to last more than a day.

 

I know that someday the deep green grass will fade,

the smell of Spring will vanish

and these bleachers will get warm,

but the feeling will always stick.

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Just Thinking

Just thinking.

 

I see trees. Nature. The living. And the dead.

I hear the sounds of life. But the most important is music.

I smell spring air. The freshness.

I taste nothing.

I touch the materials I have been given. A paper, and a pen.

I feel as though I am stuck.

I wonder about too many things. I am always thinking.

I wish for someone to fix the world.

I hope for nothing because I am grateful. 

I am not a poet. I am a girl.