Magazine, website & books written by teens since 1989

Mornings

An alarm,
Caterwauling like an injured animal,
Tears me away from the sweet oblivion that is sleep.
I desperately resist,
Reaching out with my mind,
Trying to grab hold all of the night wishes and dream songs,
That are rushing past me in a mind-boggling disarray.
But they melt through my fingertips,
Parting like water,
Leaving behind only a shiver,
And a pang of remorse.
Then they are gone,
And I am left alone,
My sheets flung out,
Tangled in my feet,
Faint shafts of light making patterns on my floor,
The remaining darkness cowering,
Pooled in the corner,
Creeping away from the sun like giant inky spiders.
My mother’s head then appears,
Suspended over my door,
Her face shaped in a recognizable scowl,
Impatience flickering in her eyes.
Just a mother checking on her daughter,
Just another annoying routine.
Making sure that her daughter gets up,
Instead of lying paralyzed,
Surprised at the way the light bulb burns her eyes,
And the way her stomach twists at the sight of the clock,
Sadistic numbers reminding her of the time.
God, I hate mornings.





Post a Comment

Be the first to comment on this article!

bRealTime banner ad on the left side
Site Feedback