write this
emmer effer
a pretend genius broadsuction
some days are better than none
Entire Contents Copyright ©2010 and forever before and after
writeThis.com, pretendgenius.com, cafehopeless.com and author.
All Rights Reserved.
 | ||||
Anna Soong, 10th grade
High School of American Studies @ Lehman College
Dennis Murphy
Favorite Elizabeth Barrett Browning poem: A Dead Rose
Metamorphosis
There’s a small, white room.
It’s windowless, lacking a door, just a hollow box.
I sit against a wall, it’s nothing more than cardboard
Covered in drywall
And slathered in cheap, white paint.
My only company’s a mirror.
Its reflection contains a girl,
She smiles prettily and braids her hair
Day in and day out.
When I put my hand to the chalky surface of the wall,
I feel a slight humming.
It is alive, whatever is behind that wall.
I put my ear upon it and hear sounds:
Running water,
The laugh of a child,
The whistling of a breeze through budding leaves.
When I push upon the thin walls, they give way at the corners.
I can see through the cracks.
There is a blue sky, streaked liberally with gold.
If I just could push hard enough,
If I could knock down these walls
I would taste sweet freedom.
Don’t do that.
I turn around.
It’s her, the girl in the mirror.
She smiles.
You’re safe here.
I pull back.
The walls seal closed, blocking the sky from my view.
There is nothing but hardship beyond those walls.
You’ll get hurt out there.
I slump against the wall once again.
Defeat.
I sit there as I have
For the past hour
Day
Year
Lifetime.
The girl smirks at me,
A small huddled mass on the floor.
Look at you, weak and insignificant.
You wouldn’t last a day out there.
I stare at the girl, her rope-like braids swinging around her hips.
She has not felt the gentle buzzing of the world
Alive behind the wall.
She has not heard the burbling of a newborn child
Or the joyous calls of the birds
Weaving their way through the tree branches
To be one with the infinite sky.
These sounds beckon me,
Fill me with strength unknown to me.
I stand up, taller than I’ve ever been,
And I push, the thick, corded muscle beneath my skin aiding me.
The walls crack and crumble,
The cheap paint and plaster, once containing me, fall to pieces at my feet.
No!
The girl is screaming, clawing at her perfect hair.
Stop!
The small, white room begins to rumble and quake.
The walls begin to buckle.
The mirror falls and shatters into a million shards.
The girl is reflected in them, her braids coming undone.
You can’t! You won’t!
But just watch me.
Watch me crash through these walls,
Once formidable, impregnable, indestructible.
Watch me break these chains,
Self forged with all my fears and tears.
Watch me emerge from the smoking rubble
And stand above it all
As I spread my
Carefully
Woven
Wings.
Metamorphosis.
