Grace

15

Needs no title

Summer means time
Summer… means freedom
Freedom from school at least
But I find myself entrapped in my own mind instead
Too much time
Too much time to think
As the tomorrows seem to stretch to the horizon
But the moment you glance away you’ve found that mythical line
The days trickle through my fingers like sand
Leisurely
Calm
But the instant I try to grab them
To hold them to me
They fly out of my grip like the hummingbirds
That I watch dance
As I sit idly
And think
About myself
The emptiness of my day
I am young but I feel so weary
My fingers tremble slightly on smudged keys
On worn strings
I’ve poured my heart into art
Is that why it feels so empty?
My teacher praises me with a ghost of a smile
My memories tread like ghosts
But the notes seem so much more tangible than my thoughts
And my mind goes from
Cool tranquil nothing
To
Panicked chaos in an instant
And it all
Comes back
To
Too
Much
Time
My fingers fly against the keyboard
Calming tapping out the disorder onto neat pixels on the screen
My eyes focus and unfocus
Vague and
Hopeless
I finish the poem
I’ll let it sit
My brain finds more useless thoughts
Is it really a poem?
(who knows)
Is it good?
(probably not)
Why did I do this?
(too much time)
It swirls
Time passes
My brain ticks
And my body follows its rhythm
I sit and stare as the world moves
At a different beat
And I sit
Syncopated

I submit the poem
Or I don’t
I’m only 15
What do I have to say?
I let down the last period
I lean back
In my shiny chair
I think
I sleep
And I wake up
With a little bit less
Of
Too
Much
Time

(I guess I do submit the poem)