Poetry

Pot holes

The ball is rolling

Swerving to avoid the clutching hands

And searching eyes

Of salt-caked whispering demons.

‘You don’t want to do that

Why on earth would you want to do that

When there’s so much more you could do?’

But I don’t want more,

I want what I’ve always wanted,

And now that it’s clear for everyone to see

Panic has spread throughout the school

And those harmless seeming founders

Have become piranhas.

No matter how steep the hill becomes

I will reach the peak.

Poetry

Who you really are

I want to climb to the stars,

feel the roar

of ovation in my ears.

Let euphoria take over

as my body balances

on the point of a needle

as it sways back and forth across the dial.

Precarious. Rash. Bold.

I am all these things.

As I wake,

I sink my hands

into my jarring heart

and replace the bent, broken cogs

with new ones.