catsandclarinets

when i was little my grandmother and i used to sing 'I've Been Working On The Railroad' because it was my favorite song and she called me her songbird when i was a little older my grandmother and i didn't sing because i was growing up and was embarrassed to be singing a little kid song with my grandmother but she still called me her songbird when i was older my grandmother smiled from a hospital bed when i started humming our song after she asked if i remembered it and joined in calling me her songbird again when i replied "How could I forget?" when i was even older i didn't cry when my grandmother asked what song i was humming even though

Sometimes I wake up and The world seems a little dim. My head is quiet and I walk through the day As a zombie, Wading through Chatter behind my back Eye rolls at my behavior Assumptions of my reason For acting the way I do. I am unable to explain, Even here, Because I don’t even know why Myself. I just open my eyes On those mornings And know.

Today I walked through the halls of my school Hearing the clamoring voices around me, My own conversation blending in. My shoes make soft noises against the checkered linoleum But I can’t hear them. I hear only the rush of people passing by, Shouts and curses, Lockers slamming. The clocks on the wall Tick away the minutes until All of us can escape. Some days, I don’t want to leave- I want the same schedule The same friends The same lunch. I want the future to remain an enigma, Forever on the horizon- Never quite close enough To see.

There is a certain rush of fear you get When you have bad vision. It’s so trivial, But it’s terrifying, When you think about it. The image in front of you is blurry, The person across the street is a mass of unfocused colors The words are the page are squiggles. Over the years, it gets worse And then the occasional panic sets in, Fleeting, Only momentarily, But it’s enough to shake you up. Your eyes don’t work like they’re supposed to. They don’t work They don’t work They don’t work.

I visited my old elementary school and I turned slightly sideways to go up the stairs. Sitting in a classroom, my knees didn’t fit Under the desk. I felt a sense of loneliness, Like I was lost at sea and was hallucinating Of the old days, which is a phrase I never wanted to use. I saw myself on tiptoe to reach the coatrack Which was now at my shoulder And I saw the endless library which was now No bigger than an average living room. I saw myself chanting ‘Bloody Mary’ three times Into a bathroom mirror during broad daylight And I saw the old, cracked blacktop that Cooked our feet during the spring and Froze them during the w

There are small things you can notice In high school that The seniors and teachers have Lost sight of. They are soft, subtle, Quiet in all of the noise. A smile against a locker Someone tripping on the lip of a stair The way two friends lean close to talk. There is also the bigger picture Which freshmen and sophomores Cannot seem to grasp. Four years becomes three Then two Then one.

There’s an enormous weight In growing up. Slowly the toys and picture books Are donated, along with Old clothes and blankets. Backpacks tear and are Thrown away, along with Old drawings and crayons. Dreams of being A rock star An astronaut the President Turn into aspirations of A decent job A nice house Going to college. You mature and get wiser But all the same, You drink a little more coffee Get a little less sleep Are a little more unhappy A little less satisfied. Christmas is just about the gifts The Easter Bunny is your mom And the Tooth Fairy dies. You get caught in blustery days of Wistfulness and longing, Wanting to go back, Ju