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Musings From A Coffee House This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine.

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   Musings from a Coffee House
by E. M., Greene, ME

Upon the horizon, the steel gray skies kiss my face with the promise of rain. Unbeknownst to most I am here, and I do hear those words dripping with sarcasm and teen angst (all with lost affection).
I have met some friends, although to my dismay they have all been around for centuries in my eyes. Speaking in halting tones of youth and fun being a trivial encounter with some unseen dilemma.
You see, I am no one and I see all (kind of invisible you could say). I don't know, I mean who does know? All those times I followed my friends up the hill after school to smoke cigarettes (they could blow smoke rings), and lay flat and stare at the sky, kind of like today, in all its beauty. You know just sit and stare at the forgotten playground in the sky.
I saw all sorts of objects in those dripping clouds, objects only known to me and my heart (not much time for that anymore). But they all were so cool, and I saw them as older until I saw how they never changed. No one was growing up. People are so caught up in being cool that they forget who they really are. It's disheartening if you ask me.
I have moved on, and have grown up. No more rolling down hills in fits of giggles with those who cannot truly see themselves in the mirror in the morning. Alienated as such, I walk through rainy days with comforting thoughts of lost friends who blend the new on petaled streets in search of good coffee and a place to smoke our cancerous peace.
There are the days blending together emotions unclouded in the light of the moon which has died for many. Vandals thoughts as I see my beautiful angel float through the coffee house, and sit, and disbelieve all the moments memories. Floating away in the maze of smoke.
The nape of her neck always mystifies me (how could it smell so good) to bite it with love and reenact the scenes of Bella Lugosi's Dracula. She could be mine for I wonder who kisses that neck. Musings from a seat in the coffee house I wonder who she is? What makes her? Why does the moon love her so? Maybe he is the one to kiss her good night. I am alone with a few, contemplating on this box that I am in and cannot remove myself. I am a teenager. Simple as that. I am alone.


This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.






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