Sometimes I think they see it too,
in the dust markings on a bookshelf
or the slight angle of a painting.
Sometimes I want to ask them,
if they feel it in the air
or the earth beneath their feet.
Sometimes I see it in their faces,
the crooked temper of a sorry smile
or a glint of fire behind a pupil.
Sometimes the earth trembles,
when their laughs roar
and cries cross oceans.
Sometimes I think the world is ending,
but only when I'm alone.
in the dust markings on a bookshelf
or the slight angle of a painting.
Sometimes I want to ask them,
if they feel it in the air
or the earth beneath their feet.
Sometimes I see it in their faces,
the crooked temper of a sorry smile
or a glint of fire behind a pupil.
Sometimes the earth trembles,
when their laughs roar
and cries cross oceans.
Sometimes I think the world is ending,
but only when I'm alone.
This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.
ChelseaMe
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