Past Dread

September 22, 2007
I look at the pictures along the wall,
Grasping panels that can’t be grasped,
The paintings of my life.
In this dry and empty hallway,
I am crowded by myself,
And something stinks like beauty.

I see when I was a tomboy,
Even more so than I am now.
I smiled in blue,
Drenched in mud,
Along with innocence,
Pure happiness,
Sheer cluelessness.
The bowling alley in the background,
With my best friend’s arm around me,
Third grade days.

I see when I was so confused,
Desperately trying to find my way.
In dark purples and muted pinks,
All I wanted was to fit in,
To be cool.
Was it my fault I cried without reason?
It was,
But I chose to be blind,
To deny the evidence,
Fourth grade days.

Insignificantly essential,
I possessed such sinful possession,
Such eternal termination.
I was beginning to climb the ladder,
Beginning to see the light.
Leaning upon my friends for support,
For my many emotional injuries,
And even more physical ones,
Fifth grade days.

I see how kids got insecure,
How they picked on me,
Because I was right,
How I remained strong.
Some of my friends began to change,
Some for the better,
Some for the worse,
And how they would rather be with their “partner”,
Than play kickball with me,
Sixth and seventh grade.

I see the image of me yesterday,
As I shone so beautifully,
And even if I’m paying for it now,
That portrait shines the brightest.
Some people think I’ve never been “cool”,
But they’re wrong;
I just realized facts and myself,
And simply grew up,
Five years earlier than everyone else.
Yes, I have a shadowy past,
And I’m not ashamed to admit it,
For it shows how far I’ve come,
How much I’ve grown,
Since the low ditch I was in.
But looking down the hallway,
At the blinding light ahead,
With high spirits, I am free
Of all past dread.

Post a Comment

Be the first to comment on this article!

bRealTime banner ad on the left side
Site Feedback