Goodbye and Hello

Goodbye, summer. If you were even present to begin with. My ambitions have robbed me of my youth. In my desperation, my mistakes look more beautiful on the paper than my successes. Time "off" is not time at all.

Fantasies of a life free of school run through my head, but I know for sure they will never be. In all of them, I am fourteen. I am young, meandering through the world wide-eyed. I am a freshman, and the world is new to me. I have no limits. But I am fifteen, in reality. I've been fifteen for months, really. I have responsibilities and sins, no matter how much I hate the latter and rely on the former to keep me in check. I have pressure and disappointment. I have boundaries and people telling me what to be and exactly what to do. I have people telling me to be myself, but I am vehemently shot down when I try to be myself and let my heart find its own way.

In reality, I am a formless bit of clay. Perhaps my true passion will heat up enough and bake my soul in determination, so I may mold the world to my liking and become a sculpture, an unsung legend to sit in the museums of minds and hearts until the fair hands of nature turn me down to let another take my place. Perhaps my heart will harden and cruel reality will hammer its awful flame into me, so that I may be another plain piece of plain ceramic to bring to the table of the idols of money that run this cold world. Or perhaps I will be trampled underfoot like any piece of chewing gum, wildly sweet and defiant by nature and a nuisance to the conformity and chains of the world.

I am excited for my first day, tomorrow. I may spin myself round and round the carousel of my metaphors and dreams, soaring through time and only seeing the blaze of color, but I am human. The wheel of life does not spin without me. I am not a pebble on the side of the road. I am happily caught in the primitive energy of life itself, as that is my purpose and intent. I cannot help but keep up. That is a luxury that I too often take for granted. It has always been present, after all. How can that be enough?

The world lies before me in a blank canvas. I may have the same pencil as all the others, but even then, there are many hues between black and white.