Waves of Emotion

There are times
When the waves
Are made of anger.
They tear up the sea
With each crashing
Stroke and die down
Only when the storms
Of frustration leave.
Then they become
Calm and satisfied
And the waves
Can carry and support
The people who need them
But at any moment
They swell with joy
Or fall with rage
Or sway with sadness.
We have
An ocean
Inside us.


Fulmore

8th

Of Technicolor Shadows and Swingset Symphonies

I sit in a graveyard of memories disguised as a deserted playground
And watch the small field of grass, all patchy green-and-gold,
The blades sway in the late-night wind like lovers dancing to a slow song
And somehow I am nostalgic for my own life,
For days that I can never relive,
The ones I spent running beneath this very same moon;
Somehow it’s a different moon now
With a colder light, and harsher edges.
Beneath me are white pebbles that my smaller hands once sifted through
Searching for something alongside her hands,
Pale and dotted with orange freckles.
It mattered that much, when our hands were that small.
Above me is the sky; it seems as though someone
Has forgotten to tell the stars to come out so
I can only see a streetlamp
And the faint light of the moon.
It creaks loudly when one swings; it interrupts the serenity of the night.
She never cared about that, I remember.
She’d join me and my swing would croak like a tired old man
And hers would wheeze in high-pitched protest, and we’d become
A swingset symphony of two.
I walk to the swings in a trance;
As years wear on, memories fade like a picture taken long agai.
Not tonight, though.
Tonight, the strange combination of moonlight and memory
Create technicolor shadows that dance across the ground;
Shades of pink and blue I’ve never seen before.
Or maybe I have, when the picture was still vibrant with color.
So I sit.
I remember how to work my legs, up and down, up and down,
Old memories running into new ones
like the colors of the shadows as they intersect.
And I fly, and the swing creaks–
A swingset symphony of one.


Fulmore

8th

Requiem for a Friendship

Do you remember those days?
Because I do
When we wore those cheap knockoff Converse shoes
And we ate the seeds out of green beans like foragers
The backyard was the ocean and we were its voyagers?

Do you remember the day we all looked up
And watched the eclipse through the cereal box
And we’d try to stay up but we’d fall right asleep
And we walked through the park and into the creek?

Do you remember the days that we ran in the rain
And baked brownies that burned and wrote comics and sang
All out of tune with your old CD player
Laid Celeste in the yard, buried layer by layer?

Do you remember the days that we ruled over kingdoms
Together in worlds that were all our own
We’d leave food for fairies
Defeat adversaries
And walk hand-in-hand back home?

Do you remember those days?
Because I do
And do you think someday we’ll look back and rue
The day that we left it all behind
And traded our fairies for humankind?


Fulmore

8th

Netflix

I sat on my couch
With a heavy, long sigh
And reached for the remote
On a table nearby.

With the click of a button
& blinding white light
The TV turned on
& prepared for a long night.

A bold red “N” on the screen
Then my name appeared
Under a menu with thousands of shows
That offered entertainment for years.

I began to scroll through
The shows that were shown
Everyone I had seen
At least once or twice though.

My clicks became desperate
Eyes searching like hawks
To find one show
That I had not watched.

With every new show that I found
My brain just said
“It’s probably not good,
You’re better off just going to bed.”

With a sigh of defeat
I turned off all the lights
My thirst unquenched
Just like every late night.


Fulmore

8th

A Little Loving Here and There

People are like seeds–
We may take awhile to blossom and grow,
But all we need is a little loving here and there
You never know what flow may pop up,
So many unique blooms,
From roses to sunflowers to tulips
And it’s the same way with people,
So much diversity,
Such culture, morals and personality.
Everyone is beautiful in some way,
All we need is a little loving here and there
To blossom into the people we will become.

her

She thinks outside the
box
her imagination travels
the
uncharted
deep sea;
murky water

flowing through her mind
twisting and turning

her mind is a river–
vast

continuing on for miles
bubbles arise

Pop! An idea lost
Her mind is a river
Vast indeed


Fulmore

8th

Thoughts

My thoughts are always floating
Like different colored helium balloons
In the space within my mind
Sometimes jumbled up
Sometimes close together
Sometimes too much
Sometimes I can’t find the right words
And I don’t know what to say
Like trying to pull a single string
From a ball of knots
then sometimes I find too many
Other times they’re organized
And I know exactly where they go
As if I’m sorting books on a library shelf
They can be smooth and precise
Like skipping stones
Fly easily across a lake
Sometimes they come too fast
And bubble up like a fountain
Or spill over like a waterfall
They can shoot like rockets back and forth
And I don’t have time to get one idea out
Before the next comes falling forward
With more force than a bowling ball
And sometimes in the dark nights,
Propped up against my pillow,
They get a long deserved break
And as they settle like sand to the bottom
Of a calm pond
I drift off to sleep.


Fulmore

8th

Thrill of the Game

Cold steel in my hands
A sword? A gun? A shield? A key?
I have no idea.
I walk through valley,
Scale mountains and hills,
Ford great rivers,
As I head to Venus–
I will rule it all.

In this new land,
I run from the guards,
I trip, stumble, fall right down
And everything goes dark.
I fly through space
As stars explode
And I watch in awe.
I recklessly crash my ship.
I am stuck in the sky,
The stars are my home now.

I wander in the dark,
Behind me a thump
And I run fearfully,
Footsteps close behind,
It seems that I’m the prey.
I turn to face
The thing scaring me to death,
But it was never there,
Not really,
Yet a prick on my neck,
My hairs stand on the edge,
And the life drains my face.

Game over.
Game over.
Game over.


Fulmore

8th

As a Female

As a female, I have a certain amount of strength.
As a female, I run a certain way.
As a female, I am shorter than most males.
As a female, I wear makeup.
As a female, I can’t “throw.”
As a female, I have more weaknesses, they say.
As a female, the women before me couldn’t vote.
As a female, I am dependent.
But that’s okay because
As a female, I am also independent.
As a female, I am also proud.
As a female, I am also really strong.
As a female, I am also as smart as any man.
As a female, I am also more mature.
As a female, I am also athletic.
As a female, I can hold a plank for two minutes straight.
As a female, I have also marched, used my female voice.
As a female, I am also a friend.
As a female, I am amazing.


Fulmore

8th

The Fist of Happiness

Feeling empty inside
The fist of happiness wants the sadness back
For the first time in a long time
The fist needed balance to be fine

You need darkness to see the light
And with the lack of light, there is darkness
With the feeling of sorrow
The fist’s whole existence is complete.

The sadness brings a thousand emotions
Which brings the fist new memories
The memories he needs to feel alive
Like fear, anger, joy and love.


Murchison Middle School

8th