Scholastic Art and Writing 2014 Silver Key Winner
July 29th, 2013
I looked for my voice in the seams between blue-hued lines on
the fresh sheets of a new notebook
and between the lanes of the blackened rubble track.
I looked for my voice between the parallel blossoms blooming on my
scarred thighs and shoulders
and on the summer-bleached asphalt roads of home.
My voice was hidden in the blackberry bushes lining the
roads of Ophelia and
between the seashells that dot the tide-washed shore.
It was hiding in the spaces between the typed up lines of
my well-worn books and in the crumpled constellations
that hang suspended in the obsidian sky like broken chips of heaven.
My voice was found in the spaces between our hands as we walk down
midnight-dressed streets and in the
whispering willow tree outside my bedside window.
It was found in the space between the pyramids on my spikes
and between the covers as Netflix blares on.
It was found in the silence that fell after we counted our sins
and in the way we always seemed to be in the same place.
My voice was growing in the rose bushes outside their Powhatan house
and in the sound of the wind whistling through my ears on the backstretch.
As soon as I find my voice I will tell you just how much I love you
and how you are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.
When I find my voice, I will walk with you back through the night-clad
streets, under the blazing stars.
We will watch as the world falls asleep as we walk through the dreaming roads.
I looked for my voice in the seams between blue-hued lines on
the fresh sheets of a new notebook
and between the lanes of the blackened rubble track.
I looked for my voice between the parallel blossoms blooming on my
scarred thighs and shoulders
and on the summer-bleached asphalt roads of home.
My voice was hidden in the blackberry bushes lining the
roads of Ophelia and
between the seashells that dot the tide-washed shore.
It was hiding in the spaces between the typed up lines of
my well-worn books and in the crumpled constellations
that hang suspended in the obsidian sky like broken chips of heaven.
My voice was found in the spaces between our hands as we walk down
midnight-dressed streets and in the
whispering willow tree outside my bedside window.
It was found in the space between the pyramids on my spikes
and between the covers as Netflix blares on.
It was found in the silence that fell after we counted our sins
and in the way we always seemed to be in the same place.
My voice was growing in the rose bushes outside their Powhatan house
and in the sound of the wind whistling through my ears on the backstretch.
As soon as I find my voice I will tell you just how much I love you
and how you are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.
When I find my voice, I will walk with you back through the night-clad
streets, under the blazing stars.
We will watch as the world falls asleep as we walk through the dreaming roads.