The steak knife's blade
screams, as it fails to pop
the bubble encompassing
this small town, where
I wander the streets like a goldfish
lost in its fishbowl.
I despise plastic seaweed,
whose inability to change frightens me
more than grinning great white sharks,
gracefully traveling the seas.
I have only experienced the taste of salt water in
small doses, teasing my tongue, and I long
for the wailing fire alarm my eyes send out
when salt water tickles them
every day of my life.
I don't need a diving board to jump into
the ocean – not a blink, not a word, just
a seamless transition: a sole piece
of paper, afloat, holds the key
for little goldfish lost to find its way to the sea.
screams, as it fails to pop
the bubble encompassing
this small town, where
I wander the streets like a goldfish
lost in its fishbowl.
I despise plastic seaweed,
whose inability to change frightens me
more than grinning great white sharks,
gracefully traveling the seas.
I have only experienced the taste of salt water in
small doses, teasing my tongue, and I long
for the wailing fire alarm my eyes send out
when salt water tickles them
every day of my life.
I don't need a diving board to jump into
the ocean – not a blink, not a word, just
a seamless transition: a sole piece
of paper, afloat, holds the key
for little goldfish lost to find its way to the sea.
This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.

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