Leigha

Leigha
When I was in 9th grade I showed my friend slam poetry, she, and I quote, told me it wasn't just "slam poetry, but a slam dunk in all that is wrong in our world and society's own hypocrisies.." Now If that is not the most accurate way of phrasing just about, anything, I'm at a loss. In poetry you can say whatever you want, and no one will stop you, talk about your deepest secrets hiding them in metaphors, to fit in with the language,

You see this friend, she's a lot like me addicted to feeling of stripping something away only to see it was never there to begin with using our words like razors but now we only use them to scrape off the paint left on these old window frames, 

we have both shattered the windows in our homes just to cover the feeling of the walls caving in, I don't say this as a compliment but as a warning because the ash of our burning minds could create a desert out of an ocean. 

She has the most beautiful, freckles you will ever see, like pinpoints on a road map, she wants to see the world, make her mark on every continent by leaving a bit of the ash that she carries with her, 

This friend, she was never the "emo" or "edgy" kid but if you looked at the scars on her arms, it looks like she connected the dots between flaws and in this art saw something that was a spring, not the kind in your car, but one that bubbles water from below our planet's skin. 

A tap of hope that she couldn't quite get to flow but she kept going believing that because she too was made from water, she could quench the flame that licked her mirror every time she tried to look for it. 

I do not understand how she found a way to carry her blaze and perhaps keep it in her eyes, she wants to take her charcoal heart and use it to write the words of an epic not yet forgotten, I've been trying to talk of her more, lately but all I seem to cough up is smoke.

I want to believe that I, like her have found my flame and perhaps, keep  it like bird in cage, take this scarlet songbird, and keep it singing in my aviary of a chest I'll  let its song tell my story, of every person's story so that it too may leave a mark larger than ourselves. 

My friend she wants to travel the world, you know.

This poem is about: 
Me
My community

Comments

Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741