Healing Old Wounds This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine.

May 7, 2014
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When I was seven, the Wal-Mart eye doctor told me I needed glasses.
I wore them for six months before I
couldn't stand
the lack in clarity they caused me.

There's a tree in my front yard I used
to climb
no matter what my neighbors thought.
Now it is covered in spiderwebs.

I've never seen a rabbit in the snow,
but they refuse to hibernate – perhaps
because of their determination
to not miss half of their life.
Maybe humans are like that too
Unless sleeping every night is a broken up form of hibernation.
We sleep one-third of our life away.
Or if you're me, one-half.

I wish gravity didn't pull us together
because maybe then my flowers
would bloom
and I could throw a fishing pole to the stars in hopes of catching one
To use as a pillow at night
Maybe then hibernating would be worth it.

Humans spend six days a year looking
in the mirror
But I vow to spend zero because
Mirrors are like glasses, they prevent me from seeing clearly.
I can't define left from right
Or what is real or a lie.

My cat wakes my up at the crack of dawn every morning
I squirt her with water, but she still won't
let me sleep.
Maybe there's something to see
I put my glasses away
And climb the tree outside.

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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KkatKreationz said...
May 12, 2014 at 1:37 pm
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