Should Inspiration Strike

[Tea_Leaf]

I'll be putting most of my stories, poetry, and prose here, should inspiration strike.

[Tea_Leaf]

Her name was Cynthia.

Cynthia, who kept her head down during class,
Who often mumbled her words
And tripped over everything.

Cynthia, who laughed so hard she’d start coughing,
Who always had her hair covering her face,
And always had her shoelaces untied.

Cynthia, who doodled on every scrap of paper available to her,
Who was a sorceress with a pencil,
Who could make pictures worth tens of thousands of words.

Cynthia, who wove together stories and worlds,
That you didn’t think a little kid
Like her could create on a crumpled up sheet of paper.

Cynthia, who created colors with a black pen.

Cynthia, who made messy sketches beautiful.

Cynthia, who made messy people beautiful.

Cynthia, who was happy with anything,
Who was happy with anyone,
Who laughed and sang and ran
Tirelessly up and down miles of hills.

Her name was Cynthia.

Cynthia, who watched her friends pack up and leave,
Who smiled through it all.

Through one friend.


And another.



And another.


Cynthia, whose laughs got shorter,
Whose smile became smaller,
and whose eyes became dimmer.

Cynthia, who said things so quietly
That you stopped bothering to ask her what she said
And just pretended like you understood her.


Cynthia.

Her name was Cynthia.


- Written February 22, 2015

[Tea_Leaf]

there are things I want to say
but when I start, My heart jumps
and My tongue grows still

so I curl up
and close My eyes
take deep breaths
with lungs that don't work, that
skip
skip
skip
quietly
taste those saltwater rivers
that run down My cheeks
feel them turn into waterfalls
for a quick, slow second
until they run dry

then I smile
and I stand
and I laugh
and I dance
and Everything is Okay
until it's not

and sometimes
there are things I want to say
but when I say them, nobody listens

so I break the dam
and let those saltwater rivers
start again