Storm Drain

March 6, 2017
By FZGrim BRONZE, St.Peters, Missouri
FZGrim BRONZE, St.Peters, Missouri
4 articles 0 photos 0 comments

Growing up my growth was rarely the result of

the lax humming of the constant cycle

a bumble bee of repetition

the beat of life slowly buzzing in my ear 

In my life learning has happened the best between moments,

between boring lectures

and walks

where i didn’t know

where this whole thing was going to go

learning was seeing the scars of a broken jaw

and learning that not just bones

but people can be broken too.

learning was  the chaotic crescendo of a needle

piercing more than just a soon dead body

a friend

It was the whales


the eye watering shrieks

of an entire unknown bloodline

spilled out around me

like a can of unfamiliar wet paint that had flowed over

the weight of the added tears





the carpet beneath,

a carpet already splashed more deeply

With the memories of another

a brother

leaving a mark

much thicker than that

salty wet paint ever could itself


The next learning was

learning to move on

realizing that pain is often just a aftershock of joy

learning to laugh

This learning was learning

to see myself and others everyday

through the black smoke

coming from the fingertips of glorified children

hobbled around a drainage ditch

like some kind of early morning running water

running all together to find itself a home

I’ve gone back to one daily moment in my head so many times

Walking behind the church behind that rough looking preschool

That overgrown path snaked behind our community out of sight

Twisted like a sick vein running through that part of our daily journey home

That pumpkin we smashed out of instinct

The constant barks

Not only from dogs but from adults who had seen themselves

In us

The daily idle threats of our bus driver who was rightly worried about my friends

“Hey next time i might have to call the cops these two can’t smoke on here”

This daily saying constantly greeted by a subtle nod

The simple daily acknowledgement that they’d grown not to care

On our walk home we were always

Welcomed by a subtle presession of misfits the ones that enjoyed the grime

That shaky railing finally falling like an exhausted soldier

That just couldn’t stand us anymore


growing up was learning to see past that smoke

those thick plumes

simply masquerading so many of the problems i saw those problems begging to

Dancing like shadows on the faces around me

many of most interesting people

ive met

Felt like they were simply living as conduits to their problems

Felt their whole lives  diagnosed

each powerful emotion inscribed

as a mere symptom

a note to be left

sitting in a folder

somewhere in a dusty drawer

on a piece of perforated paper

without the heart

without the weight

and the reality

that words cobbled up by someone who has only ever

worn the word crisis as a title could never hope to explain .

Our own lives are defined not by our everyday actions but by the

unordinary things that happen despite our mundane lives only

you control your life:)

The author's comments:

This is a story about growing up and learning to become something you can call your own

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