Your team is on offense, you’re in a bad mood.
The ball of chance,
Is passed to you, bringing back memories,
Leaving you trapped in the corner with nostalgia.

Stuck in a box,
Confused by the yellow-orange gym lights.
Eyes scanning everything,
Overanalyzing, being analyzed.

The moment you have control,
Is so quick, but slows down in your mind.
Loud cheers and boos from the sidelines,
Yet the only sound you hear is the pain of your pounding ankles.

Like a windy day playing ball outside,
Nothing makes sense.
People calling your name floats through the wind,
But it doesn’t matter anymore.

You still have the ball,
What you do is your choice.
But people try to define your feelings;
Tell you what to do.

In your frozen moment,
The ball is stolen by a big girl on defense.
You’re so confused, it all contradicts,
But you run back; push her your hardest anyway.

Soon the game ends.
Your jumbled thoughts transform into a clear poem.
The squeak of shoes against the wood floor silences.
Everything will be different tomorrow.

But you never forget,
Those valuable confused thoughts,
Because even if they make no sense,
They are the hidden truth that matters the most.