PenTherapy

 This poem is dedicated to a friend of mine that I had a long time ago. I haven’t seen him in years.

I lost you yesterday

too wound up in the cordless receiver

to come out to play.

“I’m getting older.” You’d say.

You didn’t have to tell me that;

I already knew

with you being 5’6”

and me

only 4’2”.

We usually played pretend

around this time of day

followed by “jump off the swings”

before a sandwich and some Kool-Aide.

We’d catch bees and wasps

and shake them up in the jars

before throwing off the lid

and running like mad across the yard.

We used to ride bikes

and explore in the jungle behind your house.

We’d climb to the top of a torn-up, old rope

and swing across a row of picnic tables.

But now,you’re watching television

and have no more time for me.

You’re on the phone

with your new girlfriend

while I sit alone

outside

in the one hundred degree weather

waiting for you to come out to play,

sitting in our favorite spot

atop a tall rock

with moss and the word “Starz” written across it.

I wait

with crackers and two glasses of untouched lemonade. 

My time with you grew shorter

And soon you moved away.

We still meet in the cross road

swith a nod of the head and a “Hey,”

but we aren’t as close as we used to be, as we were

back in the day.

I was born on William Shakespeare’s birthday; friends tell me his skills flow in my veins. I love sour gummy worms. On the weekends, I love to stay up until 6 a.m. on the computer. My favorite video game is still Pokemon, and I’ve been playing it since I was eight. Cookie dough is one of my favorite snacks- why should we not eat it? My dad taught me the joy of pranking when I was young, and my first prank involved an empty gum wrapper and some unsuspecting victims. I am a procrastinator. I have been drawing since I was first able to hold a pencil. I loved toads a little too much when I was younger, and I’d carry them around until they died. I can taste hot peanut butter cookies when I think of Grandpa Kimler. I couldn’t go to my dad’s funeral because I was in so much pain from losing him. I have a weird fascination for shiny things, and someday it’s going to get me hurt. I am an artist who dreams. I want to be an artist who helps dreams come true.

Change in your pocket

Shoes, striped

Shirts to match

Run,

Arc,

Throw,

Ball smashing

Eight pounds smacking,

The floor

Tumble,

Roll,

Knock the pins

To the ground.

Hotdogs,

Cheese sticks,

Curly fries,

Smells heavy in the air.

Crack,

Jump,

Yell,

“Strike!”

Fifth-grade softball

I signed up to play softball

I did it because I thought it would be fun

I did it because I needed something to do

I did it to prove that I could play at least one sport

I did it to try and fit in

I did it for someone else

I did it for the friends I didn’t have.

I showed that I could play, even if it wasn’t well

I showed that I was willing to open up

                To make friends

I showed my mom that I could be like her

                Make her proud of me

But

                I didn’t like it

Because I didn’t think it was fun

Because it took up time that I wanted to spend elsewhere

Because I couldn’t play as well as the others

But

                I did fit in

                I did it for the friends I made

So

                I guess along the way it got better.

                I guess I did it for myself…

It’s just me, the pencil, and the paper

The television may play

My brother may be talking

in endless sentences to me.

My cat may jump up on my lap

But I don’t pay them any mind

My drawing is almost finished

No movements to distract me

No annoying sounds to catch my attention

Nothing could pull me away

from this work I’m creating

It’s just me, the pencil, and the paper

A few more scratches with my pencil

Just one last smudge of the eraser

A simple flick of the wrist

Watching the graphite glide along the paper

Beauty in one of its simplest forms.

help

i can’t fine the derivative of this

poem because of the

tailgating driver behind me running

away from senior projects who

are so intimidating it is unreal i think

i’m going to hide from this lab report

who is telling me that speciation can

result from geographic isolation that

color wheel that’s driving me crazy

primary, secondary, tertiary colors

spinning so fast in a clockwise motion that

even president Bush would be afraid and

veto that bill but Congress would just

hold a filibuster so it’d pass anyway

two-thirds majority vote would send me

scampering home to provide sustenance to the fish and

cats who always seem to be hungry

do my homework i must watch some

television the couch is just comfy enough that

i fall asleep watching Dr. Phil

…man, what a day.

Adolescence.

It’s a time of fun, learning, and new experiences.

A time of joy, laughter, and hanging out with friends.

It’s a time where you’re learning to make it on your own.

Plan for your future ahead.

And tie close bonds with your family and friends.

So you’ll know someone’s always got your back.

It’s a time of stress, work, and little sleep.

A time of homework, chores, and jam-packed weekends.

Making the most of your free time.

And savoring the feeling of home.

Because soon, sooner than you think.

You’ll be out on your own.

But don’t let that scare you.

Your relatives and loved ones are only a phone call away.

And they’ll be waiting for your return someday.

Live it up, when you get the chance.

Don’t take it for granted.

Because it only comes.

Once in a lifetime.

You were there

On your bike,

Curiously,

Watching your father work

Under the hood

Of a dark-blue mini-van.

You watched him wipe

                Sweat from his brow.

You watched him smear

                Oil on his face.

You gasped when

You saw the wrench slip.

A large cut opened

On his hand.

You felt proud when

He didn’t even flinch,

And he wiped the blood away

                With an old, dirty rag

From his back pocket.

                Starry-eyed,

You were amazed

By his strength and determination.

And so

You continued to watch,

And he

Continued to work.

Now,

Here you are

A young adult

And you work

Carrying bricks for your mother

So she can place them around the flowers.

And you trip

Landing flat on your belly

Scuffing your palms

And cutting your knee.

You don’t flinch

You wipe the blood away

And rise again.

                You feel him

In your muscles

                In your bones

Giving you the strength to go on.

Now,

You’re working together

And it shall continue that way,

Forever

Valentine

Spilled on my desk

Are colors of red, pink, and violet.

A pencil skates across the heart-shaped card.

“Roses are red…

Violets are blue…”

Too cliché for what I feel for  you.

“Be my Valentine?”

Too simple, too short.

There’s not enough emotion.

My mind races as I scramble for words.

My eyes dart back and forth

                From the card

                                To my pencil.

Desperate for something to say.

Love is a funny thing.

A real mystery to me.

I cannot express myself enough

Through just words alone.

                Can I?

I scribble down one thing.

Glad to have thought of something at last.

                It’s not too much.

                                Nor too little.

It’s just enough.

As I raise the card for one last view.

All that’s wrote is

I love you…

Where I’m From

I am from the lizard

scampering on the back porch.

From the toad hopping sluggishly

in the cool grass of the front yard.

I am from Saturday morning cartoons

and buttery scrambled eggs and a jelly biscuit.

I am from weekends at Grandma’s

and the sugar cookies Grandpa and I made.

I am from beautiful Southern West Virginia

the only state that feels like home.

I am from the tilled dirt of the garden

and the pickle jar in the fridge.

I’m from hamburgers on the grill in the summer and

home-made vegetable soup in the winter.

I am from the pages of a sketchbook

and a tray of water color paint.

I’m from the shavings of an eraser

and a bar of dark blue clay.

I’m from the charcoal flames of a long, majestic dragon

and the shaded eyes of a furry, cunning fox.

I am from the gentle strokes of a paintbrush

and the lines of ashen graphite rain.

I am from a hard-working mother

and a father I lost long ago.

I’m from sharing a room with my brother

to a sister I don’t really know.

I’m from a lost history book

Whispers in the dark.

I’m from an origin of mystery

of words hardly spoken.

Dad

So I cried

Lost forever in this world

Why did you have to leave?

Why did you have to go?

You know I can’t make it in this world without you.

Why is the atmosphere suddenly cold?

The chill pulls at my heart,

And breaks it up inside.

I thought you’d live forever,

But I was wrong.

So I cried.

I feel empty now.

Nothing can fill that void.

What makes it worse.

Is that,

I never got to say goodbye,

So I’m lying here like a forgotten toy.

I wanted you to see me graduate.

I wanted you to see me grow

,But now you’re gone, and I’m all alone.

“Perk up,” I tell myself. “He’s still watching me now.”

I know you’re up there,

And I know you see me.

I hope that I make you proud.