Sepia | Teen Ink


January 24, 2012
By lookingformargo SILVER, Ithaca, New York
lookingformargo SILVER, Ithaca, New York
8 articles 0 photos 2 comments

Favorite Quote:
A child said, "What is the grass?" fetching it to me with full hands; How could I answer the child? I do not know what it is any more than he. I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful green stuff woven... and now it seems to me the beautiful uncut hair of graves. -Walt Whitman, Leaves Of Grass

We need never be hopeless, because we can never be irreparably broken. We think that we are invincible because we are. We cannot be born, and we cannot die. Like all energy, we can only change shapes and sizes and manifestations. They forget that when they get old. They get scared of losing and falling. But that part of us greater than the sum of our parts cannot begin and cannot end, and so it cannot fail. -Looking For Alaska

Here's what's not beautiful about it: from here, you can't see the rust or the cracked paint or whatever, but you can tell what the place really is. You see how fake it all is. It's not even hard enough to be made out of plastic. It's a paper town. I mean look at it, Q: look at all those cul-de-sacs, those streets that turn in on themselves, all the houses that were built to fall apart. All those paper people living in their paper houses, burning the future to stay warm. All the paper kids drinking beer some bum bought for them at the paper convenience store. Everyone demented with the mania of owning things. All the things paper-thin and paper-frail. And all the people, too. I've lived here for eighteen years and I have never once in my life come across anyone who cares about anything that matters. -Paper Towns

It is so hard to leave—until you leave. And then it is the easiest goddamned thing in the world. -Paper Towns

Elsewhere the landscape is more frank.
The light falls without letup, blindingly. - A Life, Sylvia Plath

We sat in a brightly lit kitchen
Reenacting old arguments
Like Shakespearean works

Old with an immediacy we can't seem to shake

We'd forgotten the lines we wrote without trying
On a long-ago night in August
Heat in the air, heat between us

We create the dust we breathe
As the pictures of vacations to Europe
Sit in boxes under stairs in houses
Faces blurring, colours falling into their sepia slumber

And one day
Will your children find my face interesting enough to ask my name?
And if they do
What will you say of me?

How will you introduce me to those who cannot yet understand
Bodies that move as one
Passion like earthquakes and electricity
And the thrill of shoulders touching in a room full of people?

And how will you introduce me to those who cannot yet understand
Invisible bonds splintering
Learning to turn away from a kiss
And the quiet formation of dust in an empty room?

Similar Articles


This article has 1 comment.

on Apr. 14 2012 at 11:36 pm
TheGreightGutzby SILVER, Brooklyn, New York
8 articles 10 photos 55 comments
This poem was really hard to figure out but this is what i think it means. Either its about a relationship you had or in now. You kind of envision your future with that someone and you can only see dissapoinment.

Smith Summer

Parkland Speaks

Campus Compare