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  • Sydney Cusack

Ode to Expectations

I scribble notes of genius onto

crumpled-up pieces of loose-leaf paper,

with the smudgy blue ink of a ballpoint pen,

I can rewrite the laws of physics.

I contain vast whirlpools of knowledge and maturity,

and yet,

like a geyser, full of angst and repression,

I burst under pressure.

Like a volcano, I eject my internal fire onto

myself and those around me.

I punch holes in walls when my

nail polish smudges,

and yet,

I am strong.

I shatter roadblocks

and I cross burning bridges with a smile on my face.

I am a shoulder to cry on

for those who never lend their own,

and yet,

I hold grudges

the size of skyscrapers.

I brighten rooms, but I thrive in their dimness.

Sometimes I am a boulder, solid and self-assured,

and sometimes, I am the defeated piece of loose-leaf paper

containing yesterday’s genius.

I cannot be categorized.


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