Kaylin Rosler

Grade: 11

Bay Village High School

Instructor: Erin Beirne

I See You

Poetry

I See You

I
Beautiful are her eyes,
her face,
her smile.
Away with common sense,
I feel the crush of no-time
slip away.

II
Never form fitting.
Sweltering heat cannot combat
her sweatpants.
Beating rays won't take
a hold on her long sleeves.

III
Piercing turquoise
as I watch from my desk.
I smile at her,
she doesn't see,
wrapped up in the unimaginable.

IV
A single blotch of red.
Red hoodie; lifeguard.
Irony.
Singular around crows of
blues, blacks, and yellows.

V
Blue-brown stands cling to her
damp shoulders.
She's splashing in a dark mass.
Touching a thing I would never
think to go near.

VI
Nurse.
Feeder.
Player.
A mother in eyes of black,
coats of gold and white,
ears of gray and brown.

VII
Raw and unguarded.
There's hurt, anger, and panic in the flesh.
But not a hint of dandelion malice.
No rose thorns are digging into her bones.

VIII
White wood has seen plenty of faces.
Death, deceit, and anger.
Love, passion, and embarrassment.
All her emotions read through
white wood.

IX
Her soul shrines in a million stars,
reflected in her eyes.
She smiles at a pearly moon.
She sinks down with the sun
into sizzling water.

X
Even more layers are added to her.
Two socks, shoes, sleeves, sweaters.
Five more bracelets to cover up
five more snowy mistakes.

XI
Slow and fast notes
play through my speakers.
Regret to longing to excitement.
When it's not just her and me,
She switches to upbeat.

XII
She's too loud,
too quiet, too broken,
too fixed.
She's so put together,
for someone like her.
She needs to focus on school,
get over it.

XIII
A plain book sits on her desk.
Inside, people who know, will not
shudder away.
A complex book sits on her desk.
Inside, people who've never thought, will
heave and sob
through her stories.
All inside a plain book.

Damp Hours

Poetry

Damp Hours

It's been raining for hours.
When we get there,
we hear
thunder,
see the flashes of
Lightning.

Mom was concerned,
"It's raining, are you sure you
want to go?"
I said yes, I want
to be there.

I wore my brown shoes,
a white and black skirt,
a black shirt.
She lent me her hoodie,
one of my favorites of
hers.

Mom called me, asked if
I heard the
thunder.
I said no, it wasn't even
raining in Avon.

I was lying, of course,
anything to stay
in the moment of soft
comforting silence.

Silence.
Even when we're
laughing,
when cars drive by,
when the wheels of our
boards splash up water
on our heels.
We were soaked,
water on me from sitting in
the puddles forming on
that one metal bar.
Water on her from falling
down trying to
drop off a slope.

I remember laughing
so
so
hard
that tears formed
in my eyes,
that I felt light headed with Love.

Oh, did I mention that?
That I'm with the girl I Love?
The person I would catch the
cold seven times
over for?
(To be honest, I did,
catch a cold,
I mean.
I also may have mentioned her,
I speak about her too much.)

However.

I Love
her running mascara, droplets of water a discoloration on her skin,
her ugly laugh, wheezing through the wetness of water,
her damp hair, obviously this isn't obscure (we were in rain),
her crude mouth, shouting swears at the sliding cars, stewing up mud,
her, frankly horrible, british accent, that we thought it'd be funny to enounce in,
her poked teasing, sharp grin stuck on her lips,
her terrible pants, mortifying, tell me who else in the Milky Way owns those monstrosities?
her scraped knees (she's collapsed into the clear puddles too many times to count),
her scarlet palms, shivering with sharp cold and too many almost splashes,
her, frankly warm heart, radiating the heat of her blood even in this biting rain.

So yes,
even though
I'm getting
so
so
sick.
And I'm
so
so
cold.
I will always Love it.