Note: I made a lot of poems or poem-esque in the second half of this day's (which was actually yesterday!) chunk of writing. So...hope you enjoy! You might not understand all the poems, but isn't that sometimes the point?

 

Dreams

She dreamt of him again that night. The mystery boy. She didn’t know him, but almost felt like she did. And when she woke up, she missed him—or the dream. She just wanted to ignore that irritating alarm and drift back to sleep—back to him. She knew she couldn’t—or shouldn’t—for she had school today. She reached over to her nightstand and silenced the alarm on her phone, but continued to lie in bed, thinking.

* * *

She must have dozed off again, as she opened her eyes as her mom shook her awake.

She groaned. “Am I late?”

“You missed the bus, but it's slow anyway,” her mom replied lovingly. “I made you some breakfast to eat in the car, but we have to leave in five minutes.”

“Thanks, Mom,” she replied, “and sorry I missed my alarm.”

“It’s alright, just try to wake up on time tomorrow?”

“I’ll try…”

 

Control

He tried to scream, but his clamped shut against his will. He could only watch as his body stopped and sat down calmly at the side of his bed. His mind, however, was anything but calm. Vehicles quietly pulled up outside—so as not to disturb the others in the apartment building. Light footsteps began to sound on the stairs and in the hallway. He should have known they would be capable of this. He knew many of their secrets.

When the door behind him creaked open, he mentally braced himself. He couldn’t turn to see who it was, and couldn’t shut his eyes at what would certainly follow.

She wasn’t who he had expected.

“I’m here to help you,” she whispered.

 

The Movies

I stood in line with my parents and brother, surveying the snack choices. My brother picked up a pack of those horrendous gummies which were unnaturally chewy and made me feel as if I were eating sugared-up plastic. He liked them anyway. I opted for chocolate-covered raisins, my favorite. Even as I told myself to save some for later, I knew I would likely end up walking out of the theatre with the box empty.

Popcorn bags and drinks clutched to our chests, buttered and unbuttered pieces alike already falling to the carpeted floor, we walked through the door. Awkwardly holding the tickets while trying not to drop everything else, Mom read the row numbers in the dim light and we stumbled over. Once there, we finally set down our burdens and took a seat.

We sat through the previews, whispering jokes to one another or taking note of an upcoming movie to continue the eternal cycle. Not that I minded; I looked forward to these days. I still do.

The lights dimmed and we grew quiet as the movie began. Eyes focused on the light before me, I reached into the half-empty bag of popcorn and took a bite. I leaned forward and took a sip of my drink to combat the salty taste of popcorn. The credits for various studios ended, and the tale began.

* * *

Music played, lights came on, and white text scrolled by on a dark screen. We gathered bags—salty dregs at the bottom—and took one last sip from our drinks as we shuffled out of the theatre room. We chatted about our favorite scenes, what we liked or didn’t, and how we were all eager for next time.

 

Patience

“When will it be ready?”

“Soon.”

“That’s what you said an hour ago!”

“And I meant it. You’re simply using a different frame of reference.”

“Well, can you at least give me a straight answer?”

“No.”

“Why not!?”

“Because I don’t know the answer.”

 

Satisfaction

Peter leaned back in his small spinning chair, stretching and letting out a long sigh. Not one of frustration, but one of satisfaction. He had done it. He marvelled at his essay—not his best work, but certainly better than he had expected. And he hadn’t expected much. Or anything. He glanced at the clock on his laptop: 9:53pm, it read. Had he really written for over three hours straight? He smiled, relieved—it felt wonderful having that anxiety lifted.

Sparing only a brief review to edit the essay, Peter uploaded the essay to his professor, then went to sleep feeling better than he had all week.

 

It (not the novel/movies)

It came out of nowhere, glistening tendrils exploding from a point on the stone wall. In less than a second, the wall crumbled into pieces of rock, then ash, then dust. By the time this was through, the tendrils had already spread to the ground. In the blink of an eye, the building shared the fate of that wall. Those who had seen it were staring slack-jawed, too shocked to move or speak. Those who were oblivious to it continued laughing and playing in the late-spring sun. Both groups shared a similar fate to the wall and building as the tendrils erupted along the grass and lashed out. Dust soon began to settle in silence on the now-bare ground.

Hello?

“H-hello? Anyone there?”

…

“What is this darkness? Where am I?”

…

“Why can’t…why can’t I remember anything?”

…

 

First poem/poem-esque!

Speech

She shared—sensing stillness.

She stopped—silenced.

She sighed—somber.

She sparred—speaking.

She struggled—striving.

 

She—salvation—succeeded.

 

Space

Space was marvelous. Sure, it was lonely too, but she tried not to dwell on that. Or the existential dread that came with it as she drifted through the void. Instead, she focused on why she was here. She gazed through the shield of a window that protected her from joining the ever-growing sea of space debris. This window faced away from that, facing forward. Toward the incomprehensible unknown. Toward salvation, she hoped.

He, her.

He healed, having her here.

He heeded her humbling.

He halted his hypocrisy.

He honed his honesty.

He harnessed his humanity.

 

He had hope, hearing her.

 

Symbols

What are these symbols? They once made sense. Now, all I see are lines on a paper, pixels on a screen. Gibberish. Maybe…maybe I just need a break. A break from the constant exposure.

* * *

What are these symbols? Days later, I still don’t know.

 

Thoughts Thought

They thought, thoroughly, through this.

They think that—through thoughts—they thrive.

They thrive, though, through thoughtfulness.

 

She, he.

She heard him, hurting.

He sobbed softly, salty streams searing skin.

She held him, hearts hugging.

 

He shared her soothing heat, saved.

She, heartfelt, shared his soul.

 

With/Without

Wherewithal? Where?

Wealth? What?

Worry? Wrought.

Wonder? Once.

 

Who

Who are you, to stake such a claim?

Who are you, to think yourself an expert?

You, with your self-appointed mastery.

You, an embarrassment.

You, a fool.

 

Akin

It was akin, what I felt.

Not quite same, not quite different.

A variation of, perhaps?

A sibling to? I thought.

No. Maybe.

Yes.

 

Teh Writre

Teh Writre wrtoe.

Nto alwysa mking snese,

Btu alwysa mking ues fo snese.

Adn sneses.

 

Unique

Can one ever truly,

Be unique?

 

We all have,

Uniquities.

Don’t we?

 

If we are,

All unique,

 

Then are we?

 

Eight Billion

Eight billion minds, personalities, souls.

So many.

 

Makes you think that,

There must be one who

would get you.

 

If-then, why not?

 

 

Some of the poems were experiments with using the same letter(s)/sound, some were based purely on personal thoughts/feelings, and some both. The first one, "Speech," actually was going to be another story but with only words starting in "S." After two or three sentences, I decided it may work good as a poem, so I finished and then edited it.

I'll probably write some more poems (and stories) today, which will be posted later.

- Theory