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The Day After Friday

I am

Waking Up,
Before my
Candy apple phone
Beeped music,
Singing my eyes open,
Of shut, like
Voices do

I beat my
Alarm, for
The first time since
Six o’clocks

And walking
In frozen white rice
An hour later
In winter

I turned on
That silver knob,
All the way
To steaming

Forgot the fan,
So the world fogged up

And the
Butter-cream walls
Sagged down,

The other me
Behind the cracked
Wood frame
Beams “good morning”

With a
White towel, the hotel kind
Like a fence
On her head,
Keeping stray brown
Curlies and straights
In check

I practice
Silly face,
Intense face,
Model face,
And giggle
At the results

Looks too much like
Shaving cream.

It’s dangerous…
What if Sister,
Night troll,
Were to make a switch?

Then my tongue would shrivel,
And my teeth
Would taste

Big tube,
And yellow…
½ mask,
½ something else

I squeeze
A drop of goo
Onto my finger,

The size of
A pea, but not
And not
From dirt

Smear it all
Onto my face,
My canvas

Always blank,
Because mother says
“No make-up.”

She told me cosmetics
Make your skin
Porcelain-doll, for a day
And then crackly Rhino hide
For the rest of your life

I argue, but
Don’t wear it
Because there’s none

Only hers,
And blush
That comes in
Purpley colors

Closet doors
Go squeak,
Dusty white
With ridges

Slats, that
Remind me
Of bamboo shades
Covering people’s windows

Floral is
My favorite,
So I tug
A skirt,
Pale blue,
In almost-real roses

From underneath
Jean shorts,
And everything else
To the floor

I leave it there…
The other clothes,
Leaning Tower of Pisa-style,

Cower, scrunched
From years
Of careless folding

No breakfast, please…
Haven’t got time.

I tap a code,
Feeling spy-ish,
Into a panel
With numbered buttons,

The one that makes
The spider-webby
Garage door
Creak, and yawn

I squish past
She’s a
Big, silver moon monster

She still smells
Plasticy and new…
I hate it.

Shiny, violet bike
Waits for me,
Leaning against
His kickstand
A teenage boy,
Trying to be

The sapphire helmet
With a hundred thousand
Dots of cobalt
Makes me look

Concussions are bad.
That’s why I jam it on
To my head
Dad jokes
That I should have one
For inside, too

I am

Pedalling away
That anger
From afternoon

Over bumps
In the midnight gravel
Until I reach
Glassy Corner

A shattered something…
The pieces,
Stars, thrown on the ground…

If they
Could not
Cut me,
I’d scoop them all up,
Opposite of Humpty-Dumpty,
And make them feel
Together again

Join the Discussion

This article has 4 comments. Post your own now!

JuStMe.DeZZi said...
Oct. 21, 2011 at 9:12 am
As I have said on your other poems, you are a true writer. This one is rather long but you are so descriptive and you give everything this kind of peppy, quirky feel that I really like it. Well done! :D
LittleMissSunshine08_11 replied...
Oct. 21, 2011 at 7:25 pm
:D Thank you!
TaphephobiaThis teenager is a 'regular' and has contributed a lot of work, comments and/or forum posts, and has received many votes and high ratings over a long period of time. This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. replied...
Nov. 2, 2011 at 10:33 pm
I agree, its kinda long but its perfectly fine cause you give the perfect amount of details. They just make something that would usually be boring to people stand out and sound beautiful.
LittleMissSunshine08_11 replied...
Dec. 4, 2011 at 5:37 pm
Thanks so much! The comments mean a lot :)
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