Month: May 2022

The Reality of the A student
A Greek tragedy lived by thousands of the damned
They’re caged by an addiction
of papers with hundreds
And a fixation for perfection

The Reality of the A student
Is that they’ll never be perfect
As humans commonly are not
So they strive for an impossible goal
Knowing their efforts are futile

The Reality of the A student
They they are cursed with brains
Prohibited to feel, for the mind is always thinking
Intellect is a curse
When it’s all you are

The Reality of the A student
Though this drug gives them purpose
They would throw it all away
For a chance to be content
To be normal and free

Unfortunately they are addicted
Unfortunately they are human
Unfortunately they are cursed with intellect
Unfortunately they want to be happy
Unfortunately they don’t want to be the A student

But the reality of the A student
The reality of being Alexis Juarez-Delgado
Is that happiness isn’t made for them
For the addiction of being an A student is their purpose
And without purpose, how should I expect to live?

there is a star somewhere,
named after what we created together.

the moon that night was controlled by my smile
so i’m sorry to all the cities i’ve flooded
i didn’t mean to make this a big thing
but i was willing when we met
your comforting words gave me the will to stay a little bit longer

when i think about us,
i think about how galaxies are created in the blink of an eye
i was made stardust all because you were good to me

a year is a long time.
about fifty weeks.
three hundred sixty-five days (three hundred sixty-six if it’s a leap year).
five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes.
far too many seconds.

a year is a long time.
school days are long and wearisome.
students dragging themselves to reach may.
when summer finally comes around, the day seems shorter even though the sun is out longer.
quickly the days blow away.
we scramble for more time away from equations and falling leaves, yet there is an excitement for what is to come in the fall.

a year is a long time until it isn’t.
bad news hits. a shadow is cast over the last few bright days of summer.
time is ticking away. the diagnosis is a death sentence.
immediately treatment starts.

a year is a short time.
we visit every day. we come with stories about the school day.
you smile but the wear and tear is shown on your face.
meanwhile, the hope on our faces falls ever so slowly.
treatment fails. our days together are limited.
time is an impeding countdown, just waiting for the clock to reach zero.

i am from gas station rest stops
that fueled the hunk of metal which took me anywhere my traveling mind wandered
i am from cramped spaces in an overcrowded backseat
filled with cousins i wasn’t fond of
i am from landscapes i’d never seen before across the country
that i was so blessed to be able to visit
all because of my gracious grandparents
who loved me more than i knew

i am from the house on the corner
that was suddenly so far from the grandparents that looked after
me and my wanderlust heart
i am from the shadows,
not knowing where i belong
i am from a quiet voice
that doesn’t know when or how to speak out

i am from an explosion
of tears and screams released when everyone least expected
i am from questionable stares and unsettling talks
with strangers in an unknown room
i am from being pushed away and kept quiet
by people who were supposed to be caring for me
and only heard me when i cried out for them
but now
i am from people who love me
care for me like no other
see me for me, no matter how difficult

It’s midafternoon. The sun shines ferociously from above as I make my way home from a pleasant day at the beach. The sidewalk floods full of people despite the recent disappearances. There’s a man in a gray suit and long slacks, despite the sweltering summer heat, who catches my eye. It’s not so much his suit I’m interested in, it’s his shadow. When he raises his hand up to catch a paper flowing in the wind, his shadow lifts its foot. Now I’m sure I’m only seeing things but I follow him nonetheless. The man continues to walk forward and occasionally glances over his shoulder almost as if he knows I’m trailing behind. I stare so intently at his shadow now, waiting for it to move differently than its maker, so much so that I run into the man’s back. He stops dead in his tracks; a smile forms on his face. Without warning, I feel something on my leg. I look down and see the shadow’s dark ghostly hands rise from the sidewalk and wrap around my ankles. Swoosh. Darkness. Now I, the shadow, follow the man, waiting for the next curious passerby to add to my collection.