Young Writers Society

i love the way i'm ignored like light ignores certain
places, inflicting shadows. the shadows in which
i am drenched. i love the way i electrocute particular
people with my eye-contact while i talk to them.

daylight flashes past the window and as i am
desperately running my finger down a page in the
french dictionary, i can't help but get distracted
by the softly scorched in blue outside which roams free.

i am jealous of it; while i sit here chained to a fake-wood
desk, trying to conjugate verbs in the past tense, it
breathes unhindered and a green breeze hushes past.
i feel like crying as i see my inadequecies driving downwards.

i love the way i talk loudly that they can't hear my
heart, my thoughts, my huge, cavernous silence.
i love the way he looked at my forehead, told
me he was proud of me and made a joke about us.

i don't want to understand that next friday tears will be
pouring down my heart: tears of happiness and a few
of unhappiness. the echoes of my mind will keep me
company, but occassionally loneliness drills through that shell.

sketchy euro notes feel awkward in my hand.
the silver strip of hidden rainbow scatterings sits
modestly along the edge and empty stars, swirls, diagrams
of would-be glimmering places just triggers an anti-climax.

i hope my thick, waxy expectations don't crumble
to a small pile of grey dust, fluff and bits of debris.
if only my eyes shone more, my hair was more sun-streaked
and my words were more like wet, cool, melting rainbows.
written: Friday 10th September 2004, 9:41pm.