Each paper filled with questions

For “getting to know me”

Seemed useless because they didn’t help

To know me profoundly

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My favorite food, my future job

Show nothing of my thoughts

My dreams, my worries, my moods

Weren’t in the responses they sought

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How is my hobby going to help

Them understand my heart?

And in my maze of longings

My pet doesn’t play a part

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All they wanted were easy answers

The little things that don’t show

My inner compass, the way I see the world

So now? They’ll never know

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Inspiration:

During the first day or two of school, we did a lot of get to know you stuff. What that entailed was the teacher handing out papers and us answering the questions on them (questions like “What’s your favorite color?” “Do you have any pets?” “What’s your favorite food or snack?”) and then giving them back to the teachers, all filled out, so that they could pretend they knew us now.

I do really think it’s fun that they try to get to know us, though, they still care about finding out about us. But how is “What’s your favorite store in Redding?” going to help them actually get to know us? Our hearts, our minds don’t consist of simply our “favorite after-school snack”. We are complicated beings. How are a couple fruitless questions expected to figure us out when they don’t even begin to scratch the surface?

Excuse the rant.

So this morning, I was outside, sitting in our treehouse with my favorite notebook for writing poems, and I began this one. From the first line, I thought to myself “oh, it’s not going to be one of those raw, emotional, tumble-out-of-my-soul-and-straight-onto-the-paper poems.” But I convinced myself to write it all, and I’m glad I did, since it’s definitely something that I want to express.

I also thought it was funny because of the contrast between lines—you have the silly questions they asked, and then the next line will be the real things that actually make me me… followed by another one of the shallow questions.

Thanks for reading! If you like this, check out more of my poetry posts!

I want to be at peace now

With the path that has been mapped out

I’ve been desperate for the course to change

But it’s everlastingly the same…

I just want to stop struggling

Against the river that sweeps me away

I thought it was taking me

Somewhere I should never set foot again

I was wishing for a never-ending

But now I just wish to be calm

I want to be joyful as each thing unfolds

I want to be peaceful

I want to let the current take me,

I want to go willingly, I want to

Live each moment presently

And never yearn for more, or

Dread the time I might have less

I want to be at my best

Even when it seems

My situation is at its worst

I want to hold

each

happening

close, and feel its heartbeat

match my own,

Not rushed, not dragging behind, because

I will be present

In whichever moment life brings—

I want to love it all, I want to

Feel the ground beneath me, and know

That that’s where I should be standing,

I want to rise above the waves

Not let them sweep me under

I want to never let my longing

Take away my wonder

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Inspiration:

The countdown is on—my family is going to be leaving Paris (where we’ve spent the past year) and returning to the US in less than two weeks. Except… I don’t really want to go back. I love this city and the life that we’ve built here. But it is inevitable. I was lying in bed, and I’d been really fighting against the idea of going back, and of the year ending and changing, and I was just really not feeling at peace with what was going to happen in the future. And suddenly, this strong feeling came over me. It wasn’t acceptance—it was the wanting to accept. To just let everything happen as it is supposed to, and not make myself unhappy by wanting to change reality. The next day (which was yesterday), my siblings and I were out in the park, and I wrote this poem.

Explanation:

This poem doesn’t really need a line-by-line explanation, or even any explanation at all. But I’m still going to say that I was feeling these waves of emotion, just a yearning to walk wherever I’m supposed to go and follow the path that I’m meant to travel, and never be unsatisfied, or be unhappy with the present. I just want to live it as it comes and be so joyful with each moment.

There is this story my mom told me about someone in a concentration camp during World War II. It wasn’t really a story. All she told me was that even faced with all the horrors of the concentration camp, of cold and starvation and endless work… (etc.) this man was happy. He was joyful every day because he was alive and he was living each moment as if it was the best moment of his life. Well, that’s what I want to do with my life, too.

Thanks for reading! If you like this, check out more of my poetry posts!

An early sun

Light floods in, warmth

tags along,

landing on my skin

And the wind

Moves sweetly, a breeze

That has steadied its pace

And the air smells of joy,

and peace, and grace

So sugared that it settles

Into a summer scent,

My time spent

On lying in the soft, dewy grass

Each blade a different shade of green

And I bask

In the belonging,

Responses to each question

I could ask

Seeping into me like the rays of sun

As I let myself become

A piece of this peaceful morning

We are one

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Inspiration:

When the warm weather came, I became obsessed with the park. It was so green, so comfortable, so calm and beautiful. I started going there at least twice a day, and one morning while I was lying in the grass, I wrote this poem.

It starts out with me noticing all of the different elements of what’s around me, and by the end I’m expressing how I now feel like I’m a PART of this morning. It goes from standing apart from it, just observing, to becoming one with the scene.

Thanks for reading! If you like this, check out more of my poetry posts!

One is restless.

Seen by all, felt by none

A spot on the map

An item on the list

Rushing through, mouthing

“Wow”

But never listening

To the heartbeat

Instead it’s

Loud

No quiet, just voices

Getting louder and louder

Clamor

Inching forward,

Pressed by hoards

Of people—

Sticky, sweaty

Never pausing to embrace

The true identity of this structure

And never have they felt

Less close to God

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The other is holy.

The sacredness settling

On your skin

The peace sinks in—

Each breath feels

Blessed

But as the light beams

Through the stained glass windows

I almost forget

To breathe

The stillness seeps into me

And echoes between the walls

A haven within the chaos

A rock, in a place of movement

Peace enfolded in each moment,

I feel my soul like a current

I’m swept away

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One cathedral is famous

The other, unknown

But in the midst of the crowds

Is when I feel more alone

And in the peace, in the silence

Is when I feel like I’m home

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Inspiration:

Recently, we were exploring northern France during our vacation. It was only for three days, just seeing a select few sights. On the last day, we drove back to Paris, and we stopped by a French town called Rouen. We visited one of its several cathedrals, and it became one of my favorites. Not because it was famous. But because it was almost empty. We had the whole, grand and beautiful place to ourselves. A few days later, we went to see Notre Dame, and the difference between this quiet, sacred cathedral in Rouen and the loud, commotion-filled Notre Dame was unbelievable. And then we slipped down a quiet, narrow street and stumbled upon another cathedral, almost empty. That’s where I wrote this poem.

Thanks for reading! If you like this, check out more of my poetry posts!

Just when my roots spread into the earth

The wind comes and sweeps me away

I tumble, I fall, I land in a new “somewhere”

And though I’ve lived several years, it’s rebirth.

I take root again, after catching my breath

My branches fill with green, and pleased

I rebuild my sense of home—

But again comes the storm, no rest.

And though each time, it’s a more beautiful place

I dread my old home being erased

Because when in comes the breeze,

There’s the bending of the trees

And my branches never feel the same…

It hurts and it’s hard to leave things behind

When you just started to belong

The leaves start to flutter, and everything stumbles

But the tempest had never been wrong

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Inspiration:

I was sitting in class, waiting for the other students to finish their tests. And I looked down at my chest, at the tree necklace given to me by my French “aunt”, Lucie. My mind started down a familiar track: change. And I knew I needed to write a poem. I tore a scrap of paper from my notebook, and wrote in unintelligible scribbles, desperate to capture the poem. And that’s what came out.

I wonder just how different we are

If I’m still on the ground, have you settled in the stars

And if my voice had gone softer, did you speak louder

Have you savored each hour

Or watched the time fly by

Have you opened your eyes

By seeing more of the world

Are you still the same girl?

And I hope you remember my heart

I hope this year was only the start

Have you gotten wiser

With each sunrise or

Did you slip back under the covers

So the cold wouldn’t drag you under

I trust you won’t forget

All the happy and hard moments

And the time I spent learning

Are you still yearning

For more? And do books line your shelves

Ones that you’ve written, or by someone else

Are you happy, was it worth it

Do you close your eyes and transform into a poet

And are you braver, are you kinder

Are you still a dreamer, a thinker, a writer

Is there a deeper light

That you have seen shine?

I hope that I have left a little trace

And I hope you’ve found a place

In this world, wherever it may be

And that you love yourself, and everything you see

That you have come far, but you still remember me

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Inspiration:

A few days ago, I was asked by a loved one—one of those people so close you call them family—to write a letter to my past self, and one to my future self. The letter to my past self is in the form of a letter, but when I began writing this one, the words wouldn’t come out right. That’s when I knew that it needed to be a poem.

Explanation:

I think this poem is enough just as it is, without a detailed explanation. A main theme I had in mind as I was writing this was: I really hope the future me hasn’t forgotten. I hope she won’t forget, and I also hope she’ll grow in the ways I’ve always wanted to, and so many more ways, too. But even though she’ll grow, I want her to be the same person in her heart.

Two parts I will explain:

And if my voice had gone softer, did you speak louder: When I was younger, I was really loud. I was confident and opinionated “right from day one”, as my mom would day. But I’ve gotten quieter with my opinions and thoughts. So I hope my future self speaks louder again.

Did you slip back under the covers

So the cold wouldn’t drag you under: One thing I am so strongly sure that I don’t want to happen is that I will just pretend like nothing ever happened—like I never spent a year in Paris which changed my life. I will not “slip back under the covers”. What do I mean by that? Picture this: you’re up in the middle of the night, and get up to get a drink of water, or go to the bathroom. And then, you slip back under the covers. You’re safe and warm again. It was like you never got up.

Thanks for reading! If you like this, check out more of my poetry posts!

I grow into my shoes

And I learn something new

I  visit these places

Expanding my view

If somebody asks me

What I did while away

I’ll say “I breathed deeply

For once—you should too”

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And these eyes start to see

Beyond the mountains and seas

There’s a whole earth to explore

Just waiting for me

Beyond the shallow thinking

Of unknowing minds

My homeland is sinking

That’s not who I will be

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I want to hear more

Than the deafening roar

Of disharmony and violence

Trying to “even the score”

I’d like to grow wings

Become a bird

I’ll do real things

And away I’ll soar

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I never thought you could grow

By disrupting the flow

My roots were set deep

The only way to show

Us, was leaving

Leaving our home

I spent my time not agreeing

But now I know

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We can’t sit and yearn

But by taking a turn

We see through other eyes

It’s the best way to learn

I feared flying higher

I didn’t want to leave

But amidst the fire

I didn’t burn

Inspiration

I was in the park (now one of my favorite places to write poetry), and I was reflecting on… well, everything this year had been teaching me. Especially this little realisation I’d had—our home is not just the place we grow up, or where we settle during our lifetime. The whole earth is our home. And I have the intention of exploring my home, now that I know how wonderful it is to see the world through different perspectives.

Explanation

The rhyming structure is a bit different in this poem. It goes: AABACDCA. I wanted to do a different pattern for a different point of view I’m experiencing. Anyway—

“I’ll say, ‘I breathed deeply

For once—you should too’”

By “breathed deeply”, I mean that I saw a bigger perspective, I wasn’t… suffocated by little views. And everyone should. Everyone should have that chance.

“Beyond the shallow thinking

Of unknowing minds

My homeland is sinking

That’s not who I will be”

I think that it’s terrible to not have geography in school until high school. And yet, that’s how it is in the US. Before we came to Europe, I didn’t know that Spain was in Europe, I didn’t really know that Central America existed, I thought Greece wasn’t a country anymore, and I couldn’t situate any country on a map for the life of me. This is all very embarrassing to admit, and you are all probably gasping in shock. ;) But sadly, it’s the truth. My thinking was very shallow in relation to the world. And that’s not the only thing that the US is doing wrong. I refuse to be a part of that thinking anymore.

“But amidst the fire

I didn’t burn”

The title of this poem is Phoenix. I intended for the title to add to the poem, not deliberately saying it but the title making it apparent. These lines say that I didn’t burn in the fire—the “fire” being this year. But add the title, and it means that I didn’t just not burn in the fire—I was born anew.

Thanks for reading! If you like this, check out more of my poetry posts!

The sky looks aged, like it’s

Pondering, deciding

What to say

To be understood

And the

Trees stretch

Up, to gather

Wisdom

In handfuls

And the

Birds fly

Because they know

Where the knowledge lies

But we stay

On the ground

With our laws

Of the mind

Instead of testing our limits

And reaching for the

Sky

And as the days

Fall back and

By

We decide

To only live

Our own lives

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Le ciel a l’air

Vieilli, comme s’il

Réfléchissait, décidant

Quoi dire

Pour être compris

Et les

Arbres s’étirent

En haut, pour rassembler

Sagesse

En poignées

Et les

Oiseaux volent

Parce qu’ils savent

Où se trouve la connaissance

Mais nous restons

Au sol

Avec nos lois

De l’esprit

Au lieu d’atteindre le

Ciel

Et tester

Nos limites

Et les jours

Reculent et

Passent

Et on décide

De vivre seulement

Nos propres vies

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Inspiration:

It was a beautiful day. Warm, clear skies. Basically the opposite of how Paris usually is. My siblings and dad (who had just arrived) were at my brother’s handball match, so my mom and I were home alone. She came to my room, and said that it was necessary to go to the park. I agreed a bit reluctantly, not knowing how perfect the weather was. But the second we stepped outside, my eyes widened with pleasure. The park by our apartment is beautiful under normal circumstances, but that day, it was gorgeous. I ran a few loops around the park, and then I wanted to take a picture of the daffodils growing on the grass. To do so, I laid down on my stomach. Immediately, I realized that I didn’t care so much about taking the photo. All I wanted to do now was lay on the soft, squishy earth I’d been so out of touch with. After a while, I flipped onto my back. One glimpse of the sky, and inspiration struck.

Explanation:

In the first few lines, I’m trying to explain what the sky looked like—it was a strange look. It looked on the brink of doing something spontaneous, but it also looked patient. Like it was deciding something. And when I say, “…deciding what to say / to be understood”, I mean that the sky is trying to communicate. Which sounds weird. But it seemed like the sky was deciding how to express itself in a way that we could understand.

In the next few lines about the trees and birds, I’m saying that the trees and birds know that the sky is superior. Its wisdom is superior because it has watched over the earth forever. The birds fly to be closer to the sky.

The next four lines talk about us, staying here on the ground, only concerning with ourselves. Having all these laws to keep us away from the sky. Notice how these four lines are the only “structured” ones in the poem

“We decide/to only live/our own lives”: These last lines could have two meanings.

Number one: The whole world works together. That’s how it was designed. The food chains, the spreading of seeds, the balance. And us humans? Most of us decide to only be concerned with our own lives and the lives of our loved ones. Occasionally a few other people who cross our path. But most of us don’t care about that bigger picture, they don’t care about anyone outside their little circle, unless it directly concerns them.

That is the first meaning. The second: There are so many possibilities for our lives. We could be so many things, learn things, teach things, grow into things, drop out of things, support things, protest agains things. And a lot of us do—but not to the full extent. And a lot of us don’t even try. Those people only live their own lives. The ones that are laid out. With nothing spontaneous, nothing outrageous, nothing that “tests our limits”.

Translation:

Since I translated this poem into French, I’d just like to say something. It’s that this poem was made to be translated into French. I barely had to change any words. For example, take the lines “—with our laws/of the mind/instead of testing our limits/and reaching for the/sky”. In order to have it rhyme, Kk I had to do was make it “instead of reaching for the sky and testing our limits”. That way, in French, it would rhyme. And here’s another crazy thing: at the end, it’s “we decide… our own lives”. And in French, the words for “decide” and “lives” also rhyme. My mom even said that she likes the poem better in French!

Thanks for reading! If you like this, check out more of my poetry posts!

Cold fingers

What do they trace

Across the earth

Shivers into everyone

they touch

Cold clammy

Chills we’ve never known

Wind blown

Along the lines

Of a river icy

With cruel

Our eyes freed of warmth

Nothing but snow

We’ll never know

What became of love

Because it’s gone

In the cold

That consumes

Our homes

Our hearts

The flames; the fumes

Heat is forgotten

But what if

We were never warm

But frozen all along

This is where we belong

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I was going through my google drive, and I stumbled upon this poem. Apparently, I wrote it in November, which was right when the cold was starting to settle into my walks to school.

Thanks for reading! If you like this, check out more of my poetry posts!

As if old, wrinkled fingers

Had traced them across the fading blue

The clouds settle and they shift

Wispy tendrils and timelessness

They wait for a signal, senses wide open

Poised for the music to begin—but drifting, still forming

The composer put it into place

And becomes the concertmaster, a sweep of his hand

The earth comes alive

With all the sounds too grand to hear

They all sing their part, hesitant

Or full, it resonates

We try to translate—but all that comes out

Is our part in the concerto, creeping into being

That melody we always thought we’d heard

It’s been there in the cracks

Growing like ivy, smothering the old, sharp stone

As it moves past its boundaries

Like the rushing wind, that weaves through everything

And touches each thing, bends it, shapes it

Paints it new, just as

The highest artist

Moves his brush, slathered in the emotions

We have no name for

But our painter sits there, wondering

How to capture anything in something

He paints and he paints

But how to convey

Something that doesn’t obey the human thought?

And how to sing

A symphony, without a voice?

And all that’s left is a canvas

And an empty jar of paint

Where he tried to paint this world

Without any of its true color

The tip of the iceberg

Barely scratching the surface

It cannot hit the highest notes

In this song—

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The singing of life

the only sound to be aware of

Not the noise, all too bright

That we claim to own

With our loud booms through the still air

That’s not the real song that’s there

If you tilt your ear

Steps aligned, in sync

Then you are let into the secret

Enfolded in the shade

Where the music dwells most

At the end of a one-way path

But would we really go back to the twisted chaos

Once we found our place—

A new part swept and folded into the harmony

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You could think of reasons to avert the eyes

If you want to rest in the swirls of colorless paint

That we have mixed together

By thinking that we could paint the pictures needed to be seen

Thinking we could lead this symphony

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And we can try to grasp it

Reaching out to the sky, with its clouds awry

Clawing at the sheets of music, to change it

Grabbing at the canvas, to mark it up with our thought

But everything will fall into place

And the sound will rain down

It will blow through

It will light up

And it will be enough, for all of us

Inspiration:

Several things have inspired this poem, but I’ll narrow it down to three:

1. At the conservatory that we go to, I’m in an orchestra with other kids learning music there, like me. It’s so cool to play in an orchestra like that, the way that each part complements each other, harmonizing and making beautiful sounds.

2. A week ago, my class went on a field trip to an art museum— the Musée d'Orsay. It was the second time I’d been there, but I got to appreciate it even more because I’d since read history and meanings behind each painting in a book from the museum. Seeing these artists’ takes on the world—especially impressionists like Monet—was so amazing. But then…

3. I was sitting on a bench in the park by our apartment yesterday, just taking everything in. And I realized that these artists tried so hard to capture the essence of this world, with all of its different textures. And they conveyed something beautiful, of course. And look at this! It’d be hard not to want to express the beauty of this earth. Which led me to the thought of how splendidly THE artist created it.

Explanation:

Does it seem like I’m casting a lot of blame on humans, saying they make too much noise, saying they fail at creating art? Because I’m not saying that—about ALL humans. Some of us stumble down that “one-way path”, and we become a part of that symphony that the world makes up. But others… don’t.

And we like to think that we rule the world, and we create everything, and we are the most important. But really, all things are equal—we each have an equally important part in this art piece, this symphony. And the “concertmaster”, the “grand artist”? Our creator. The composer of this song.

Thanks for reading! If you like this, check out more of my poetry posts!

The last light of 2025

Happy new year!! These are two poems, both written the same way—four syllables per line. But it’s as if two different people are giving their views on the new year.

The first person seems ‘wiser’, and is considering different aspects of the new year— nostalgia for the past, and distress for leaving that behind, too much anticipation. The second, on the other hand, is dead set on this new start.

(I know I usually give the explanation at the end, but I thought I’d explain it before, so it would make more sense from the start)

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Ending, fading

Years are changing

Say goodbye now

Time goes, sprinting

Something calling

Future, longing

We rush slowly

Never ready

Hoping, stalling

We are wanting

Something sweet but

Not much sugar

Waiting, counting

Down the seconds

Something beckons

Softly, weakly

We crawl quickly

Looking backwards

Stumbling forward

Tripping on past

Going too fast

Never pausing

Crying, loosing

Sight of progress

We forget our

Past and present

Search in notebooks

We remember

Hold on tightly

Don’t let go now

We’re so close to

New beginnings

We don’t want them

We aren’t winning

With sight broken

Keep our past but

Don’t be blinded

Will we find it

We will smother

The new, bigger

Numbers, quicker

Look back again

We aren’t ready

We’ve been steady

We’ve been bloody

We’ll become clean

What does that mean

We can’t stay here

Where we come from

Happy new year

It’s not welcome

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Finished, changing

Years we’re wasting

Old means spoiled

Rotten, decayed

Fresh is coming

We’ve been waiting

Clean slate, clean mind

New year, new time

Resolutions

We will keep them

We know we will

Change for better

Will we miss it

All the moments

Steps we took and

Vows we broke and

Bags we carried

Those are buried

Moving quickly

Leave it behind

Those gold moments

We will keep but

We are ready

To make new ones

New chance, new me

Yes I’m ready

Begin again

Fix our mistakes

Hoping for a

New sensation

We will make it

Looking forward

Hoping, heart full

Words pass my lips

Full of promise

Keep my word and

I’ll be heard and

Winds are changing

Hearts are racing

Cry no more tears

It’s a new year

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Inspiration:

The end of a year (and the beginning of another) comes with a mixture of reflection—thinking over the year you just lived, and imagining how you can improve in the next year.

It was only supposed to be one poem—at the moment, I was only reflecting on 2025, and the first poem came in a whirl of thoughts. There were hints of thinking ahead, to the next year, but that’s because that’s all they were in my head just then—little, tiny tastes of future. Not consuming my head like the past was.

And then it was down on the page (or rather, the phone screen), and I found myself thinking forward. The second poem had to be born, because there are always two sides to a threshold.

I even added a bit of past in that one, too, because the past is always there.

Once I had finished, I realised what it was. And it was really cool. As I said, when the year changes, two aspects come through—the past and the future. They are glued together, two things mixed together into the subject of the new year. But it’s like they were peeled apart to reveal two separate things. And why are there hints of the other poem in each, if they’re supposed to be separate? Because the past leads to the future, I guess, and you can’t help but think about it. At least, I can’t.

Explanation:

Think of that saying about the glass ‘half full’ or glass ‘half empty’. I like to think of these two poems as one thinking along the lines of “It’s the end of a year”, and the other, “It’s the beginning of a year”.

Another difference I noticed between the two poems (you know, besides the complete clashing of opinions and viewpoints) was the slight change in writing style. Sure, both poems have the pattern of four syllables in each line, but there’s something else, too. The first voice seems to use comas more freely. And you’d be surprised how much that can change the tone. That’s one of the reasons I think the first sounds more “poetic”.

And yes, I’m going on and on, but another thing about the first person: you might notice that they seemed trapped, and consult the timing constantly. As if everything is rushing, but all we want to do is go slowly (“crawling quickly”). In the second poem, the person knows just what they want. They have a clear vision, and they think that it’s going fast and it’s perfect that way. But the first does not think we are ready for a new year.

Finally, before I move on to explaining actual words in these poems, I wane to point out the word “we”. It appears constantly in each poem. The first poem never even mentions “I” or ”me”. The second does, but less often than “we”. I’ve thought about it, and I think it’s because they both assume that everyone else agrees with them. They think that their viewpoints are the only viewpoints that people have.

Now for a few tidbits I’d like to give more explanation to:

Something calling/ Future, longing: I’m sure you’re thinking, “Hold on—this is the first poem. Isn’t that the one that doesn’t want the future to come??” I think this line means that the future is calling, and it is giving the person a bit of longing. This is one of the little hints of future I was talking about. 😉

We are wanting/ Something sweet but /Not much sugar: People look forward to a “sweet” year—a good year. But a lot of people make resolutions not to eat sugar, or meat or whatever.

We aren’t winning/ With sight broken/ Keep our past but/ Don’t be blinded: Do I understand these lines? Not really. I think this is a breakthrough of level-head-ed-ness (if that’s a word). The person stops talking about missing the past, and instead has a brief moment of recognition that we can’t be too focused on the past or it will blind us—but then they go right back to being blinded.

Thanks for reading! If you like this, check out more of my poetry posts!

And if we abandon our daily duties

Float slowly to the place we all belong

With a pause and a rush

We’re on our way—we’re already gone

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No footsteps mark the way

But people have come before us

They left traces of the feeling of freedom

Behind them, and it guides us

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With a breath and a calm

We’re on our way, and what a feeling

A glimpse of clear skies

We are finally healing

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And we’ve up and left like this before

Shoes barely skimming the floor

Because every time we’ve had our fill

We want more

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Clean air, when we had been choked

By the things we want to leave behind

Try to loosen the grasp, but it comes back

Until we go and get ourselves undefined

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We want to be free

Our true calling calls us, can you hear?

Ignore it or follow it into a dream

There’s nowhere to be but here

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Inspiration:

Lately, the pace of normal life, of all the things I have to do, are weighing me down. So I wrote a poem about freedom—freedom from the weight of necessities.

Explanation:

This poem is about wanting to go and be joyful, if only for a short time. Running away from “daily duties”. And while you can argue that our normal, mundane duties are important, of course they are, we all want to go away and be happy. And we always want more of that peaceful, free feeling (Because every time we’ve had our fill/We want more).

Also, it mentions letting go of burdens that may be connected to daily life (…we had been choked/By the things we want to leave behind/Try to loosen the grasp, but it comes back).

This poem really highlights escaping all of the pressure and obligations, and just feeling at peace. Doing things you want to be doing. A selfish thought? No. We’re not here on this earth to not feel happy, after all. What a horrible life that would be.

Thanks for reading! If you like this, check out more of my poetry posts!

And so we sat, facing the doors

I tried to remember what it was for—

And as we laugh, it hits me

I am yours

I didn’t know you in the summer

But I’ve practically known you for years

I used to shed tears

—I still do

But it’s better with you

And I’ll admit it isn’t easy

To make everything right

But after a thought, it isn’t meant to be

And we could talk

And I’d forget I have class

The mistakes in the past

But they’re still here

Across the ocean

Or across the bridge

Laughing the same way

Just on different floors

And now I know

That I am yours

No matter where

No matter when

There’s nothing that could tear

Me away from them

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I am yours

Even when we don’t remember anymore

You’ll spend seventh grade without me

But together sixth, eighth and ninth

Isn’t that funny?

They both match up right

Half of me here, half of me there

Part of me knowing

Another part asking “where?”

But all I know

Is what makes me happy

If you’re the one standing tall

Or on the other side of the call

It doesn’t matter

Because if they were to scream “encore!”

I’d just say the same thing again:

That I’m yours

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Inspiration:

My friends, here in France and back in the US. 🥰

Explanation:

Each line is a reference to both my friends here and my friends back home, which is kind of fun—

I didn’t know you in the summer/But I’ve practically known you for years: With my friends here, I didn’t know them this summer, but it feels like we’ve known each other for years. With my friends back home, I usually don’t see them during the summers, and I’ve known them for real years.

Across the ocean/Or across the bridge/Laughing the same way: My friends back home are across the ocean, but to reach my friends here, I have to cross a bridge (on my way to school).

You’ll spend seventh grade without me/But together sixth, eighth and ninth: This one is fun—my friends in California are spending seventh grade without me, but we were “together” for sixth grade and hopefully for eighth and ninth. But here’s how it lines up: none of my friends here are in seventh grade, which means that they spent (or will spend) seventh grade “without” me. But they are each either in sixth, eighth, or ninth grade, meaning that each person knew me during either 6, 8, or 9th grade.

If you’re the one standing tall/Or on the other side of the call: “Standing tall” is supposed to be a reference to being with me in person… whereas I called my friends last night (on the other side of the call).

I’m yours: I’m not saying that I belong to my friends, or that they control me (that would be weird…) I’m trying to explain the way that I’m happy with my friends. Whether it’s sending videos back and forth or talking during the breaks between classes here in France, they make me happy. And that’s why I’m “theirs”.

Thanks for reading! If you like this, check out more of my poetry posts!

P.S. The reason that the title is written on my fingers in the picture is because today during a free hour at school, I wrote four things on my fingers. These four things are what my mom says are perfect for staying happy.😉

Here they are, in whatever order:

—Relax

—Trust

—Do your best

—Enjoy yourself

Try it—it really works!

Do you know this feeling?

It’s when the ice seeps in

And you go blind

With fury, with false notes

Still ringing in your ears

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Do you know this feeling?

It’s when something takes control

Something you know

But that you can’t express

So you take your best guess

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Do you know this feeling?

It’s when the song lines up

And we harmonize

It’s rare, it’s divided

But it’s together all the same

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Do you know this feeling?

It isn’t called by name

It’s barely there

But you feel it like a cold stare

Words fail, hearts can’t hold it

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Do you feel this feeling?

A pounding, a beating

Tossing and turning,

Flowing like a current

Dancing like the wind

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We’re ready for the feeling to begin

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Explanation:

Is it the same feeling each time? I’m not quite sure. When I really asked myself that question, I realized, at least for myself, that all feelings have the same undercurrent of a buzzing, yearning feeling. And that feeling is barely there—but it’s there once you notice it, just like a cold stare (stanza four, lines three and four). That feeling is so incredible, that “words fail and hearts can’t hold it”.

When I realized that in every feeling, I find this core feeling (that is neither good or bad but definitely in-credible), the last two stanzas came. And just to clear up, the last line could either be that we’re ready to feel this particular feeling, OR it could be that we’re ready to begin feeling in general. It’s up to you.😉

Thanks for reading! If you like this, check out more of my poetry posts!

Have I ever started down a path

Knowing where it would end?

Has there ever been a bend

In the road

Has there ever been a hard fall

Or a time when I lost hope?

Have I ever tripped

Or lost my guiding light?

Did I put up a fight

Or did the struggle

Slip back into the night?

Has there ever been a time

When nothing was right

And I strayed from the trail

Not knowing where to go?

Did I ever know

What lay ahead?

Did I know where it led?

Or did I just follow along

Never catching onto the lyrics

Of the song

Did I sing it wrong?

Did I stumble, did I tumble

Have I ever known

Where I was going?

Have I been growing?

Or am I the same

Sapling that never

Unfurled its branches

Is there beauty I haven’t seen?

Is there sadness?

Are there dreams?

Have I ever gotten lost?

Nothing but shade

And trails that crossed

Have I ever flown

And seen the unknown

Up ahead?

Or is everything as much

Of a mystery as the beginning

Will I be winning

This game?

Is the path the same

Farther down the road?

Will I ever know?

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Inspiration:

I’m not exactly sure. It definitely wasn’t a specific thing that inspired this, but just a bunch of unanswered questions piled together. There are a LOT of question marks in here—18, to be exact. But that’s what I liked about this poem—it’s a space for questions. And I—we ALL—have a lot, lot of questions.

Explanation:

This poem is centered around a “path”—life’s path. So, most of the questions are path-based. Or at least, wondering about the paths I’ve traveled. What’s interesting about this poem is that it’s written from the perspective of being on life’s path (because we all are right now), and it’s wondering about what has happened in the past of being on these paths. Which is confusing, but also fun to write.

Thanks for reading! If you like this, check out more of my poetry posts!

My feet, they cross the borders and lines

We go onward and we leave things behind

The grass is green; the sun leaves us blind

Or there are soggy shoes and stormy sky

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Each footstep that we take is gold

With each new sight, we’re brave; we’re bold

We buy what we’re sold, love what we behold

We visit the places and learn what we’re told

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So many wonders we hold in our eyes

I take each moment and make it into mine

We take what we’re given and dread the goodbye

Could I forget this? Not if I tried

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Another hour means an hour going far

We’re as excited as we’ve been, as happy as we are

And each thing we see leaves us as bright as a star

We’re traveling together, packed into the car

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With each breath, I breathe new air

We have our adventures, and we don’t stop there

Echoing footsteps in churches of prayer

And finally learning we’ve barely been anywhere

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When the car stops, and we’re finally home

Now we know that there are more places to roam

Than we could have dreamed, than we could have known

Our adventure never stops, more and more things are shown

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And when I write down each thing we have seen

I ponder, I wonder what it could mean

The world looks so small on a map, on a screen

But now that I know, I know what’s unseen

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Inspiration:

Today is the last day of our two-week break, and during those two weeks, my dad came and we traveled. We covered seven different countries all by car! It was such an amazing experience, and we learned a lot. This whole time in France and Europe has been really opening my eyes to a bunch of different things I never thought about before or that I thought didn’t matter. It’s really cool to think there’s a whole world out there, and I’m getting to explore it with the people I love most—my family.

Thanks for reading! If you like this, check out more of my poetry posts.