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Author: SnakeBite7
ASL Info:    19/M/NJ
Elite Ratio:    4.64 - 108 /143 /66
Words: 398
Class/Type: Poetry /Nostalgia
Total Views: 943
Average Vote:    No vote yet.
Bytes: 2401



Home is a strange place.
As a child, one can feel its importance.
The necessity of roots, the importance of tradition.
The thought of leaving never passes the mind,
For the mind is preoccupied with whether to play baseball or football.
Who’s going to be one your team? Your best friend, of course.
Girls? They don’t play with us. They play somewhere else, I don’t bother knowing where.
Rough housing and rabble rousing, we take to the field.
We play soccer, except we use our hands and tackle each other; rules only get in the way.
I feel alive.
Time passes.
I stand in the corner of the auditorium now.
A beautiful girl glides gracefully across the dance floor,
Her friends right along with her, but I don’t see them.
Why don’t I see them? Young boyish obsession, I suppose.
Her long hair, her coy smile.
And to think we haven’t a clue as to why we feel these feelings.
She sees me standing alone, a shy guy in an open room.
She smiles and waves as she dances; I sheepishly wave back.
I feel alive.
Time passes.
I stand within a group of people, people I’ve only known for a few months
Yet I dare to call them my best friends.
We tell humorous stories and dirty jokes.
We don’t go deep into conversation; shallow waters are where we feel most comfortable.
Someone passes by us. They look oddly familiar.
Didn’t we play football together? I pretend not to be sure.
But I am. I am quite sure, but there is no reason to think about it.
We’ve grown apart, time has pulled us in different directions, different destinies.
I wonder how he’s been. I wonder how the years have treated him.
The bell rings and I’m late for math class, so I clutch my books and drop my thoughts as I run.
I feel alive.
Time passes.
My bags are packed.
The registrations all done, the bank account is secure.
The last of my friends have left; I decided on one last gathering.
One last gathering to last me for months.
I’m off to a new state, and thusly a new world.
What will happen to me?
Where will I end up?
Who will I become?
I feel alive.
Time passes.
And it always will.

Submitted on 2009-07-20 01:10:56     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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  you totally captured the fisrt twenty something years of life in this short piece. i loved it!! it totally took me back to being a child playing football and soccer with the kids on the block. i like how you explained everything]

what really got me was when you said you saw someone pass by you that looked oddly familiar and you were sure you used to play football together but you pretended to be unsure. i dont understand why people do that but i do it all the time. i did it today with someone i used to hang out with in high school. why?

anyways i totally related to your work and it made me feel like i was there like i was the person you were writing about. i have no critiques for. good work. i like your style.
| Posted on 2009-07-23 00:00:00 | by joezwells | [ Reply to This ]
  I love this one, it's poetic not necessarily in it's structure but very much so in it's meaning.

repetition usually irritates me a bit but it mostly strengthened this piece, kudos for pulling that one off. The meaning wasn't lost either, and the rise against reference was nice :) [["the kind that bring you home, when home becomes a strange place."]]

all in all a pretty good piece, a few places kind of lagged a bit in structure/flow but that's easily fixable if you even feel the need to fix it at all.
| Posted on 2009-07-20 00:00:00 | by silent_death12 | [ Reply to This ]

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