I-I-I-…, 2013, by Unknown

Pressure in canvas, Sweat on skin

 

I sat in my classroom for what felt like days

Where gallons of water packed on and poured into the room until

The thin, cheap carpet overflowed and lost its fight with the tide

I sank deeper into my seat and into the room

Even when the water kissed the ceiling

It continued to add

And add

Until the pressure popped my ears and the black water of the bottom of the ocean

Broke my heart

Into tiny, pitiful pieces

 

I-

I’m not a pussy

I’m not going to

cry

I promise

I’m not

Going

To

Cry

 

Seventh grade remains to haunt my memories

Hell had found a way to enter me through

Hormones and broken promises

Eighth grade’s entrance was

Lies and lust

Ninth grade’s

Numbers on tests and numbers of boys

 

Counting, 2015, by a mathematician

Lead in pockets, ink on steel

 

I counted the closed closets

Tears and releases on bed sheets

 Millimeters between bodies

Inches between her and I

Miles between him and I

Counted the mistakes

Counted my labels

I counted what I could

so I could

Hang onto something

Factual

Certain

Real

 

In my life

I need truth

loyalty of facts

They are allowed to stick

To my bones

Uncomfortable and warm

Heavy and sweet

I allow them to overwhelm me

Make me feel something

 

Assumptions.

Everyone keeps them in their pockets

Opinions rot and mold

But they remain steaming

Even if they never see the light of day

 

Those who say

Nothing is certain

Makes their foul odor

Fill the air with garage

But I keep some things in my pocket as well

But my front pocket

Is not filled with

Deterioration

It does not hold

Faded assumptions

My fat pocket

Holds more truths than I can count

 

Keep, 2016, by Me

oil on hearts, molasses in veins

 

I hold onto

The heat from my mother’s embrace

They are certain

And the early moments of morning

My father walks into the house after hours of work

Tired, spent, collapsing into bed

He turns into a counted number

Turned into a currency that defines our happiness

Our well-being

Money is certain

I see the stars in the sky

And though I may not see them

In my last moments of life

I know they remain

I know they will be the protectors

Over those I care for

And that is certain

Validity haunts me in the best way possible

Without it

I would not be stuck together

I would not form into the clay structure

Of blood and headaches

I would not be framed

Upon the other broken hearts in the hall

I would not be painted on

Classroom chairs and bedsheets

Sprawled out in melted sugar

Sticking to every new assumption that I feel is more

My name

My age

My GPA, My ranking, My weight

My labels

And I mean all of my labels

 

Liberal Student Pansexual Loving Female Teen Hispanic

 

I place myself not in assumptions

 

Opinions

 peers, strangers, administrators,  judges, teachers, people

may have do not fit into my pockets

My pockets are too busy on keeping my facts within its seams

And too cramped to hold anyone’s assumptions

I do not fit into anyone’s pockets

My certainty holds me

It proves my validity.

It counts myself into a whole.

Not an assumption in a pocket.