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Sarai Murdock

Grade: 10

Cleveland School of the Arts

Instructor: Brittainy Quinn

Journeys are not Articles

Poetry

Journeys are not Articles

Man if I had a dime for every plant seed I had that was covered with the garden gloves of my peers. And if I had a dime for every conversation interrupted by a no no let me rearrange and change and retrain your indentity to these people so that they see you as you appear in my mind. And.. if I had dime for every contract written by you not I signed Sarai, that forced me to turn my ray of light into a box of crayons waiting to be let out to show their colors. So why.. oh why.. would I let you remodel my wings, and say I stepped up stairs and didn't fly. I mean what of a lie, is that. That I floated still on ice, and didn't drown? That I sat on empty stove tops instead of being burned inside. That the words said to me were only mean words and not daggers. I mean why would I let you write a description of my obsessions with the possession of sadness to feel less alone, when the only way to feel my emotion is from the tone of my voice, and discussions of my words . Not yours, cuz my words not yours, shows more chords higher than a church choir. But no by all means, depict me as less than a standing ovation and let me appear no less than a few finger snaps and shoulder shakes. Im sure you can create a marvelous story about who I am through your voice, taking away mine draining the power like a oversoaked rag until my lips choose to no longer fight an urge of explaining how much my past is my past, until my lips choose not to prove my growth since growth never stops when action is put forward. But I guess that doesn't matter cuz I am no longer the narrator of my story, but you are. Sincerely, you I guess.