Update: August 21, 2016

So I made this for my high school's literary arts journal (the fancy term for poetry/short stories/artwork over there) and I was just like 'lemme see if I can do this thing like that over there' and this came up. I want to hear your thoughts on my poetry. What you think it means, what you think my quote-unquote 'hidden message' is, what you think your English professor would say if he/she/they read this. I may or may not open up a forum type thing for poetry discussions, check if I do, but if not, just review and spill your guts. I really want to hear what people think when they read poetry.

Of course, as always, review, favorite, follow, and stay safe everyone!


Swing

There is absolutely no time for anything.

A seven page term paper on ecology is due at midnight tonight;

A scale model project on the renaissance theater in another week;

A six-hundred page book lies open on the nightstand, waiting to be read;

A biology textbook is open on the desk, telling me to study study study;

A test on physics come Tuesday;

An essay on politics by Friday.

So much to do with

So little time for it all.

So I grab my keys and walk out the front door.

...

No particular destination is in mind;

I just walk around wherever I please and let the gentle wind

Blow my unruly, stubborn hair into my eyes and kick dirt

Onto my ratty old shoes and tug on my light grey zip-up sweater.

The entire neighborhood seems brand new -

Was that fountain always there?

Did they always have that garden?

And I walk down a new street in the noonday warmth and

Drink all the cool sights in and listen to all the cheery quietness and

Wonder how I've lived here for the entirety of my life and still

Never seen, never felt, never heard, never knew any of it at all.

...

The park is open and almost empty.

I haven't been here for years, it seems.

There's a brother chasing down his sister for ice cream money,

And another kid trying to steal the basketball away from his brother.

A little pigtailed girl is writing numbers on the large flagstone bricks in a straight line,

Thinking she's made a hopscotch board. She turns to her friends and shows it off proudly.

Mothers and fathers recline on the benches in the shade of the tress,

Half asleep to the sound of happy laughter and bike bells and bouncing handballs.

And I watch it all from my perch of a swing.