By Jessie Garrison
As the lemon green grass itches my neck I lay staring at the sky.
Crying out and begging for an outlet,
one healthy, fun, safe, and creative.
Using it to escape
a world too cruel
for a gentle souled preteen
With Rapunzel blonde pigtails, glittered nails and a love for Disney,
all of which were no longer “cool.”
I never understood why.
My escape was my room,
with hormones running wild against the pale-yellow walls,
and the maternal guidance evaporating.
I am now alone and lost
While lost I found,
Sparkling like the stars on a clear country night.
Bright like a snow-covered street lit up with Christmas lights.
Safe like a child being embraced by their parents’ arms.
My Journals are never filled but always perfect
To some comfort is being in a group.
For me comfort became
fuzzy microfiber blankets,
silenced 2am sorrows,
and a colored pen.
What is one to do when they’re lost?
I began searching.
Sketching a map of experiences
through conjunctions and sat words.
Filling notebooks, but never completely.
During a time with deafening silence,
the pen always smoothly glides against the paper,
awaiting every word