a collection of poems

oranges (maezie olivia)

2:46pm

i always hated oranges,

but twelve years of orange juice has made me love it.

its tangy aftertaste feels foreign on my tongue,

so bright, like the sun itself was bottled in a jar.

i’ve only known the moon,

its dull light a comforting mist,

cool breeze echoes late hours and long talks.

whisper sweet nothings into your juice carton,

the buzzing of ladybugs and the summer wind

reverberating through the open car windows.

cold winters and iced coffee,

windows closed and the stereo humming,

i keep orange juice in my fridge for you.

we walk along the train tracks,

i complain about the heat, and you offer me a sip.

your gap-toothed smile makes your freckles

glow a sunshine golden, and i take the orange willingly.

I still dislike oranges,

but now they make me think of you.

you with your love of even numbers,

citrus scent and

sunkissed skin dancing on our campus green.

me with the odd,

the shadowed autumn breeze and

bundled layers.

how lucky have i become,

to find a home in such a glowing beam of light?

you share the sentiment,

bringing home lemonade for us to share,

confiding in the sour and

laughing through its boldness.

how lucky is this,

to compromise whimsy and stoicism with ease?

you’ve never minded my distain for oranges,

finding my cynicism witty.

the condensation glistens against your voice,

prisms bouncing off of our walls.

how lucky are we,

to find solace in the platonic?

____________________________________________________________________________________________________

prodigy (a tired soliloquy)

6:47 pm

yet another door slams shut.

its echo reverberates the walls,

knocking down my degree.

i pick it up and blow off the dust,

it dissipates into a cloud of

rejection.

so early to the scene,

too early to experience it.

fifteen and surrounded by adult peers,

young enough to be perceived as naïve.

I grew up always the youngest.

Trained in philosophy and witty remarks

to make myself seem taller than I was.

Class of 2024,

degree and diploma all in one.

A’s form the four and paint on a decimal.

this looks good on a resume.

Slow Down.

nineteen is not a unique number.

nineteen does not get you anywhere.

nineteen is not young enough to compliment.

brazen B’s scatter across the screen,

what a bitch.

when you peak as a child

where else is there to go?

regression cannot begin unless

you were never a child to begin with.

Slow Down.

dreaming of a grand life

filled with success

achieved from being

the youngest one here

Slow Down.

your past means nothing

when you fail in your future.

Slow Down.

a prodigy means nothing

when you are a jack of no trades.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________

re(liability)

4:13 pm

a frozen lake of academic pressure and

male domination.

is this the tyranny

historians speak of?

slow and steady,

we don’t notice it’s coming.

if unbalance isn’t a factor,

why am i losing my voice from screaming?

i have become the problem,

the ache in my throat prevents me

from speaking any longer.

sit back and watch as we pile our bodies

atop one another to grow taller,

crushing others in the process.

my lack of voice and fluorescents

blinding my vision

keep me docile and sickly.

but this is what they wanted, right?

____________________________________________________________________________________________________

flow (thalassophobia)

2.11.25

i am filled to the brim with a sadness.

my body

doesn’t know what to make of it.

it ebbs and flows like a pulsing current.

pulling me below the surface,

away from any raft i might see.

i watch a voice that isn’t mine,

come from a body i don’t understand.

it speaks in tongues and i watch in horror

as i lose a bit more of my own control.

do you like what you see?

i cannot bear to look anymore.

what were you before your voice was broken?

i am muffled and my vision is dark.

all that is left of me is a voice

i am too afraid to use.

let me let go of the expectations that come

from the dissonant tones i can’t help but produce.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________

the marathon

2.12.25

my legs are burning, but i can’t stop running.

it is exhausting to keep up this schedule of escapism.

the pain travels up to my stomach, past my chest,

and settles in my throat, creating a weighted lump.

no matter how long i rest,

the pain only grows.

i gasp greedy breaths of oxygen, but my legs

won’t stop moving.

i run into a wall.

maybe this is it.

i slam onto the concrete floor,

where did the wall go?

there is a bright light trailing behind me.

but i only see darkness in front.

i curse my legs for refusing to stop,

but my mind still races.

we keep moving forwards.

i wonder if the light will ever catch up to me.

i wonder if i will stop long enough to let it.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________

what is certain

2.15.25

mundane tasks wrapped in promises of an eventual turnout.

the possibility of positivity.

my optimism runs dry as i salivate at a one dollar bill.

is money the only thing that stands in my way?

or is it the uncertainty, the yearning, the nostalgia,

holding me back from reaching my fullest potential?

i can never grow if i refuse to change, but i can never change

if i am too afraid of what might be left behind.

i leave with an uncertainty.

the hope that there is more to this than what i can see with two eyes.

there is an angle i have yet to find.

i say i’ve worked as hard as i can for as long as i can,

but perhaps that too was just a lie,

a fable i cling to when it feels like the rest of the world

rushes to a conclusion that i have yet to uncover.

i am too safe to jump,

and too controlling to relinquish the life i am used to.

routine is the only certainty,

my mind is the only obstacle.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________

förstå dig//glöm mig

10:51 pm.

i never know what to say,

words trickle with confusion and

lace with hints of anger.

the anger is unwarranted and yet i can’t help but feel like i am all-deserving of it.

for i must be the cause when the mask slips from simple sincerity to

rigid righteousness.

what have i done?

a question that echoes a thousand times over

that i never have an answer to.

do you even understand what your words do to me?

lack of words. sorry.

my mistake.

you don’t even need to speak.

the silence is louder and more biting

than the sentences

thrown at me without consequence.

is this an emotional disorder?

maybe i am the one who is crazy,

everyone else around me seems to disagree, but you look at me like i’ve committed a sin,

so i must have done something.

there are sighs of evil that leave

no room for my breath.

i do not understand what i have done

but i understand that it was wrong.

i am wrong.

always.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________

my name is not a title

10/24/24 2:45 pm.

i am afraid that my ambition will kill me.

we are always told to dream big as kids,

but my dreams make me an icarus,

i feel the heat of the sun growing closer.

my own crippling self doubt stops me before i can even begin,

second guessing every decision i make and my lungs

losing their air when i mess up.

i can never be wrong.

my need for clean control is insatiable and

i notice my hands start to shake when i think of

every implication that can come from not being able to network.

what is my name?

what does it mean to have a title at all?

will any of this even matter in 30 years?

i don’t want to end up on the side of some road,

no name, no title, and

nothing to remember me by.

what if this is my only fate?

was at all predetermined?

is there ever a chance for the ambitious?

i was a gifted kid, i’m a gifted adult, but

my lack of pride and fear of rejection

stops me from moving forward.

the fear that someone will see me as a fraud,

as someone who has no clue what they are doing

and never has, might kill me.

the idea of being underestimated,

the expectations set too high,

it forces me to shut down completely.

will i ever escape this fear and find that

big break that the celebrities talk about?

or have i thought too far ahead?

i’ve always had trouble staying in the moment,

too concerned whether or not my decisions will affect

whether or not i can have the life i want in the future.

i don’t know what i will do if i never leave this town.

i think it will kill me if i don’t do it first.

in another 30 years, perhaps i will forget what it felt like to

question the validity of my knowledge,

or maybe no one will ever know who i am.

i hope i am not forgotten.

maybe my legacy will last longer than my dreams,

or maybe i won’t get that far.

perhaps the only legacy i will ever have will be found in the

back of the newspaper, along with other names that people don’t read anymore.

i hope my name can be more than just who i am.

i hope it’s much more than that.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________

mirror image (one thousand questions)

10/23/24 9:34 pm.

i know not what i am, nor who i am becoming.

the image in the mirror is cracked and in turn i am broken.

will my luck reflect the cracks i see for the next seven years?

or have i been stepping on broken glass, unaware of the blood trail my feet leave

as i walk away from each choice i make?

my mirror image is distorted and my vision is cloudy.

is this because of my one-track mind,

or perhaps my own unwillingness to be wrong

that i inherited from my mother?

her own image has been doubled for decades and

it projects through her bloodstream into those it connects.

my own self talk prevents me from moving forward,

but i’ve never had the stomach to stare at myself

for longer then a few minutes at a time.

should i buy a new mirror?

will it end up like the others scattered around me,

covered by thick sheets of dust and turned away towards the walls?

will i break the cycle,

or will it just add another crack to my psyche?

how many images of myself can i look through before i find the correct one?

what does everyone else see when they look through my mirror?

do they see a thousand broken pieces of me,

a project to fix, or

do they see a potential that i have not yet unlocked?

am i the only person who sees the worst in me, or am i overthinking again?

you have to rebreak a bone to let it heal, but

i’m afraid it’s been broken too many times to try and repair it again.

i don’t want to have to go through it again,

but sometimes feeling the pain is better than

taking the steps needed to let it mend.

my own stress is tripled when i hear

how calm everyone else is handling their issues.

what does everyone else’s mirror look like?

can i look into your mirror next time?

will i break that too?

i am treading on glass, but

maybe it is everyone else that

walks over it to try to help me.

do i hurt them more by not looking for a different reflection?

would it be better to be alone in a room of mirrors,

staring at thousands of versions of myself that

i built up and destroyed in order to find the true me?

maybe i should buy another mirror.

or maybe i should try and replace the one that i have.