Escape

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,

pens.

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

Never filled

            But always

                        Perfect

To some comfort is being in a group.

For me comfort became

fuzzy microfiber blankets,

silenced 2am sorrows,

a journal,

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.

Never filled

            But always

                        Perfect

During a time with deafening silence,

the pen always smoothly glides against the paper,

awaiting every word