Xanadu
 

Expectations keep me grounded where without them my head would linger in the clouds– Like birds blissfully drifting  on billowing breezes, objectiveless, lost.  In their absence I build my own– I set the standard high I aim for altitude, but I keep myself tied, tethered  to the safety of the earth.  Under restriction of  responsibility I reside, I thrive.  I belong to the ground.  I belong under pressure.

My eyes dart towards the horizon. Drawn to the setting sun, With its shining, vibrant hues. I open and exhale slowly, savoring the moment with each breath. Salty particles lingering on my tongue. To turn away from its taste would be to deny myself. I swallow… Letting the saline sit. Preserving me, the briny ingestion keeps my body level; My mind clear. Again and again, the glistening waves gracefully greet the shoreline, Each infiltrating the pores of the sand. My toes drift

I belong in quiet I belong in the calm When silence drifts on When black envelops the sky When gray clouds drift above And rain falls on rooftops When the sun’s rays Shine before the world wakes I belong in quiet In the weight of blankets Warmth folding around me And when the fan hums softly  Cold air drifting onto my skin When fingers brush paper Pages turning slowly  I belong in quiet In the slow drift of my thoughts, When I realize, without trying, I am happy I belong in..

There I sit. Staring at the perfect portraits pinned along the walls of a classroom full of life. Surrounded by voice, passion, and value, layered like acrylic smeared on a palette. The easel stands tall, proud, and patient. Covered in emotion, as it represents yesterday's feelings. The brush lies still, waiting for the gentle stroke of the hand to touch its calm bristles. Charcoal dust coats their fingertips, as they glide it against the canvas, blending in the perfect hazy

I walk into 8th period with expectations as huge as the bass, feeling my heart strings being ripped from the bow. A room that once felt like music could flourish now felt like a graveyard filled with tainted notes. The cello that was once my getaway is now nothing but a wooden box I scrape daily. The air full of thick dust of rosin suffocates me as I try to keep up with the tempo, the piece leaves me blistered and frustrated towards the end. I mourn for the harmonic sounds th

On the wall a periodic table stares at me. Along with posters of atoms and scientists scattered around the room. I sit at my lab table, as topics like ionization, polarization, and titration are put on the board. As I go down the list, I read the word reactions. Something inside instantly changes. Synthesis, single and double replacement, and combustion are easy and give me no trouble. Decomposition is impossible. A single compound breaking into multiple parts. I couldn’t foc

My eyes creak open. Sweat-soaked, sitting stale The room is my own image, A tangled mass,  trash and scattered wrappers Trapped -- my stifling abode. A breeze occasionally passes  Welcome, the window wide Its perfection stands aside From this space where I abide. The wind is perfect.  Advancing forever forward, full Presence develops from absence, Pressure here, pressure there One day, bearing farewell It will decide  For me to join it on its ride Through its restless, wander