Going Back

I didn’t expect to be so scared.

I’m just going back,

but there’s so many new things in my life.

I want to explore,

and yet I’m scared of the unknown.

I want to succeed,

but I’m terrified of failure.

I’m hoping someone will be there

to lend a hand and help me through this.

Please tell me this isn’t dread, just nervousness.

A Quick Explanation

I haven’t been posting a lot these past few months because I have moved to a University, and have been busy not only settling but also with schoolwork and extracurricular activities.

Thank you to everyone who has stuck with me in spite of the lack of content being regularly posted.

Once

Once I cried from my powder blue room

my wails rising from my crib

like awful birds- beaks targeting ears

at which to peck.

 

Once I reached inside myself

and found the nerve to kick off the training wheels

and form my own path, unencumbered.

 

Once I found myself in a four square court

and the ball bounced between me

and people who introduced themselves

as they held that yellow rubber sphere.

 

Once I looked at the monochrome clock

that crouched, always in the same place,

on the mocha-brown walls of a building

that always smelled of new shoes and Lysol.

 

Once I found myself in a room-

painted a darker blue, the same

room where that doll-sized impression of myself

used its voice to rouse people from slumber.

Now I can use my voice to do the same,

but in spite of everything,

I take my own initiative

and set forth, out of the crib, onto the street, into the halls

on my own.

Outcast

In the morning

I wake,

and tell myself that things will be different.

I move about,

eating, speaking, blinking sleep from my eyes.

Then I move into noise

and light–

bright, blinding light, and loud, cacophonous noises.

Through it all I am unheard.

Not heard when screaming, not seen when in the open.

In solidarity I find

myself staring into the mirror

and seeing the face that others ignore.

I don’t speak;

I don’t think;

I simply stare.

And in the pale mirror I find

the merest trace of hope–

some recognition from warm, golden sunlight

in a simple reflection.