As inhalation occurs, your mind is scanning, panning, and planning
High pitch squeals and commotion amongst people occur
Your fingers itch and twitch and launch for your pocket
The only manner and means of you trying to be like these people around you
Verbs, Nouns, Adjectives, and Pronouns
It started after the accident I lost the will to speak
They tried everything
Waiting, Signing, Joking, and even Provoking
But then one day...
I saw the pen and the paper
Writing for hours in that cream colored hospital bed
My vocal chords rusty but my left-handed grip is ready to write
First it was jokes then short stories and then I found it
I found my voice in poetry
Poems about any and everything
That is what got me through
Not the pills not the medication and not their words
I only communicate threw my black ball point pen and my hand held notebook
I am out of the hospital and ready to go to a new school
A school to help me "find myself again."
As I sit all alone in the commons of the school I couldn't help but write poems as my invisible shield protected me from my peers
Deep in thought, my thought process is all of a sudden disturbed
A boy, curly haired and round glasses on his face is smiling at me
He asks "Are you writing a story?"
I just shrug my head he wouldn't understand
He says "I am James, I slipped on some ice and ended up here."
I kind of smile
"Hey would you look at that. Life!"
He is the first person that has been real with me since the accident
"Can I read it?"
I violently put my notebook in my pocket and just look at him with a annoyned face
He looks shocked I don't know why
He pulls out his own notebook from his bookback
He sets it down on the table before us and opens it to a page I am shocked I scan through this notebook
He is an artist Zombies, Guns, Tombstones, Food, and Shadows
He says "It isn't really great but I thought up might like it."
He smirks at me
Open up I think
I very carefully take out my notebook and set it down next to him I hold up one finger
"I understand one story."
I was thinking one page, but I really don't feel like correcting him.
I watch as he reads and I can't understand his emotions through his face
When he is done he looks up surprised "This is amazing"
"After we "find ourselfs again at school"would you like to go to this coffee shop downtown?"
I shake my head and smile
He smiles and leaves
I write poetry because when oral words fail written words pick up the slack