Magazine, website & books written by teens since 1989

Quite Natural

Custom User Avatar
More by this author
I pride myself as the wall. Blending in with only a look or two.

I pride myself being the background, unnoticed. Working behind closed doors casting a shapeless shadow on the floor.

My voice a whisper fading into the wind. Two words spoken but seem only an imagination.

I stroll by, not in a rushed pace but brisk. Maybe too fast for you, that's just your loss.

Never will I be the focus of a spotlight unless forced to. I will shy away because the attention scares me so.

However, I pride myself being fluent in a language so delicate. Many dialects but I am fairly fluent in only two.

With praise, I flourish the aspects of some. With covert operations, I hide my malice over others.

Names are names, but what name can be given a person? What name can fully describe the person?

None! None can! And, for that reason is the language given. For the master to weave a person from this name or name a person from the language.

'Tis not as simple, as easy as we make it to be. 'Tis why we familiarize ourselves with others. A stranger or two.

But, some are hard. They see only flaws and image. They are distasteful, crude, air headed, evil.

They are all like that, too. And, they get nowhere. Fall on their faces, beg for lowly jobs. Or at least they will. It's their future.

It's these I pride myself for. These faceless monstrosities. All the same, so I must give them a face. Perhaps even spare them a name.

I have to study them, watch them move. An aspect or two maybe of interest but that's it. Add the "highlights" and done.

A story that cherishes the person, idolizes. So annoying.

Give me death! Give me heroic adventure! That I will spotlight for! That I will shine for!

But, I must take my pride and wait. It's not quite yet. I another time or two before I'm set.

I will take my pride and bloom beautiful flowers. Death will come to them, but they never last long do they?

An orchard yearns to be born. One that lasts forever. And, I feel the anxiety that can't wait.

The time is not yet ripe. I must take my pride, the language to paint a fair portrait or two.

I must pride myself as I become the breath of the wind. Caressing, blissful but silent to the truth.





Post a Comment

Be the first to comment on this article!

bRealTime banner ad on the left side
Site Feedback