There are over a million words in just the English language.
Sometimes I wonder how many we’ve exchanged.
Despite the amount of words we’ve come to collect,
There is a space more vacant than those words could ever occupy.
And I like to think that maybe the emptiness can be filled because
There are so many ways to tell someone you love them,
But silence is not one of them.
Sound is merely the traveling of vibrations through space.
And silence is just the absence of that traveling.
How many love letters, poems, and back ally walls have people tried to use
To fill up an infinite space?
How many words can you write on the ruled lines before they are no longer considered silence?
Because these words have been traveling for years,
through crumpled paper in pockets and garbage cans,
between the lines, and decorated in red on a teachers desk.
You will probably never find them.
Always almost within your grasp, but never quite there.
If by the off chance these words do reach you, out of the millions traveling,
let them inhabit the gap between us.
Even if only for a second, be close enough to let the silence be broken.
Starting off my freshmen year, I was less than excited to be entering high school to say the least. I worked so hard to find good friends and what happened? I transferred school districts. I didn’t have an open mind at all. I thought that there was no way that I would find any friends. I had heard so many rumors about the kids at my school being stuck up and had this mind set that fitting in wasn’t going to happen.
The first weeks of school went just as I had feared. Being socially awkward in a school of 3000+ students isn’t the easiest thing to handle. I didn’t concern myself too much with making friends since by the end of the first month I kind of began to give up. So, I focused solely on my school work. One day, on the announcements I heard that our Girls Water Polo team was going to be holding “try outs.” By try outs I mean you didn’t have to have any experience because the team was in jeopardy of even staying a team. Without knowing what Water Polo was, I decided to join it because hey, why not? I thought it’d get me out of the house a little bit more and maybe I’d make friends.
I never thought that these strangers would become my family though.
The past two years, I’ve gotten to know these amazing girls. I learned what it was like to have people there for you. They helped me start to have that high school experience I wanted. The one where I know I’m not on my own.
Not only did I learn how to play the sport (and still continue to learn of course)
I learned what it was like to be a teammate.
I learned sometimes you have to trust in others, even if you aren’t sure of it because when we’re out in the water, we’re all there for each other. When we play together, I’m not alone. I belong.
Joining this team was the best decision I ever made because it opened me up to a whole new world. I went from being this reserved girl to being able to open up and be myself. I tried new things and went places I never thought I’d go. And most importantly I made bonds with people that I will never forget.
And then everything is falling–
just like the seconds I can’t seem to catch.
When I told you I was afraid of clocks you laughed at me.
I didn’t know it was funny
that I couldn’t function because the mocking
of the constant tick tocking
echoing in my head.
And then I remember
when I said I could never hate you.
They told me I would fall in love with a boy,
and they told me I’d feel like I was flying when he loved me too,
but they didn’t tell me I was just a number,
crumbling, reaching for arms that would never take hold of me.
I was just a number, another girl to the list.
And then it’s six months ago again
those days were a blur.
But I still feel the night chill
and your warm breath.
“It’s only a clock,” you kept on saying
“Chromophobia isn’t a real fear.”
Well then tell me why I’m afraid!
And you’re afraid of who you are.
You’ve always be afraid of being alone.
And I would have loved you still
philophobia and all.
But the ticking in my head is a constant reminder
that I don’t have time for a boy like you.
I still don’t think I could ever hate you.
And when you can’t look in the mirror
because you’re reflection is stained
and the memories will not go away
from intoxicating yourself with numbers
we can call it Eisoptrophobia.
We were assigned a DIY kind of project in my English class. We called it our “Innovation Project.” Our project was about finding something that we thought should be done, and then taking it into our own hands and doing it. With this opportunity, many ideas began to sprout within my mind.
We did psycho-analysis on our art homework that we had for our history class. The assignment was to choose a single theme and then represent that theme in four different styles of art that we had briefly gone over: Abstract, Cubism, Surrealism, and DADA. The the theme that I chose was anxiety. I have anxiety about quite a few different things, but my biggest trigger is probably anything time related. So, I gave it a shot at these different art styles and some of them probably don’t even fit into the categories, but that’s okay.
A teacher once told me that the best advice she had ever followed was to fake it until you make it. She thought that it was motivational because maybe today you are lacking confidence, but if you continue to sport a fake confidence, it will become reality. If you believe it, one day it will come true. I’d have to beg to differ. You see, you cannot think the world to become flat. You cannot believe hard enough to make yourself into a person that you are not. And you most certainly cannot think all of the sadness away. If I pretend long enough that I’m happy when I truly am not, will I become happy? How do I know if I’ve been faking long enough to make it? Making it is not looking into the mirror and shattering the glass with your fists to fix the distorted image staring back at you, making it is not cleaning up the broken pieces because that’s what you’re expected to do, and making it is not replacing that mirror with another that will do the same thing as the previous mirror. Making it is being able to look into that mirror and accept each and every flaw that’s made a home within your bones.
I don’t know how many times I’ve had someone tell me that I’m not good enough to do something because of who I am or who I come off to be. People try to limit me to what I can and cannot do based off of some opinion that they’ve formed within the first thirty seconds of meeting me, but I do know that it gets tiring and quite boring to hear the same things over and over again.