I tend to ponder peculiar things when
I find that I have time to think.
Will I ever find my name scribbled visciously
on a High school bathroom wall?
Me especially or , just one of the many carriers of the name ?
Hannah Who? That Hannah, the one on the wall.
There are many walls to write upon
and
many forms of blasphemy
that are to be written in permanent ink
only to fade with the many unsuccessful coats of paint.
I cringe at harsh accusations
and
chuckle at the terrible grammar:
Here we have a litany of visual pollution waiting patiently
to be scrubbed clean.

There are words of advice on this wall by various females
under various pen names.
There are cries of pain on these walls because
writing suffices the hunger to relinquish the bevy of quarreling thoughts.
I think of what it would look like to enter a
sordid bathroom stall only to write a message,
marker in hand, on a sordid bathroom wall.
I try to image what these individuals look like.
Are they the sort that look like they would write on a
bathroom stall?
Are we ever aware of the heart? Can we see through skin and
vulgarity and smerks and profanity and explosions to identify
fear and vulnerability?
Reach.

We arise from our desks and scurry off
to smear , read, and add to the wall words.
Wall words will always be wall words
until they are spoken into existence.
The wall is for the cowardly.
The wall is for the fickle.
The wall is for the broken , the hard pressed , the timid
and
wall words are never truly erased.
They cannot be real until they are spoken.
You cannot be real until you have spoken.

Leaving meant recognizing that the facades have fallen,
the show is over .
Leaving meant assessing the games they had played:
four mundane years of carrying no opinion.
On the very last day , I searched for wall words to
relate to the agony of inevitable rejection.
I search knowing that the words are unwritten.
I weep knowing that we all have had our moments of utter
loss.
High School was the prelude, the promenade to life's
grand collection of suites.
I am more than a collection of misplaced syllables.
I am more than the walls I have gazed
upon.