by Mara M., 16
There is so much time passing where
I am doing nothing at all.
I sit, ponder, sketch, paint
But is it really leaving me with any life left?
Am I just melting into these books?
My body will not let me sleep
So I pull on my hair to somehow feel things.
Making a pile of the strands in my hand,
I think, these are mine.
But I just can’t be somebody anymore.
My existence mimics a breeze,
Like I can walk on top of cities and bridges
And nobody will know,
Like I can let my limbs fly away in the wind,
Like my thoughts create clouds in the sky
As the room goes soft,
As my dogs are sleeping on couches
And I am here,
Hidden underneath blankets and
Muffled by the nighttime crickets
Who have so much to say.
Downingtown, Pennsylvania
Bridge Ink 