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2019, Junior, Poetry & Spoken Word
the sweltering summer heat encompassed me,
boiling beneath the blazing sun.
lying on the metallic roof of
the old warehouse building,
a hole-riddled towel sprawled beneath me.
my dad took a bottle of sunscreen in his hands,
sprayed it all over my burning body,
told me the sun is a dangerous thing and unless protected, it will hurt me.
I shrugged him off,
looked out at murky lake erie
into the empty faces of colorful plastic bottles and
carelessly thrown about trash.
eventually I sat back down and cupped the sun in my soft hands,
playing with the light
that peaked out between the crevices of my
uncalloused fingers.
I thought I was holding power,
and maybe I was,
maybe I was holding the secret to the world in my own fists
because the sun seemed to control everything.
but at the time I had no clue that my actions controlled things too.
I didn’t know that I could change the world.
so in the middle of a concrete jungle,
I sat there with my dad and brothers,
ticking away the time until I could go back to my mother’s
because I hated the city,
I hated the cars bustling around me,
I hated the tall apartment buildings and
driving 40 minutes to get there after school on a tuesday.
the traffic jam of boats on once blue water and
not knowing if it was safe to swim on any given day.
I missed the night glow of constellations and
sticky ice cream dripping down a waffle cone at the popcorn shop
the sound of rushing water behind me as I ran carelessly and somewhat free
through the streets of a small town I call home.