Sayings
Betray the Salt
A tipped over salt cellar
An indication
A warning
An answer to the calls they didn’t pick up
A cry for the loud whispers they share when you walk by
An epiphany for the obliviousness that hid their schemes
A desperate plea for them stop disregarding your time and feelings
An annulment to the years you spent thinking you were friends
A tipped over salt cellar
Bottled and sandwiched into a simple saying about betrayal
Laughter
The banging of the rain
Hitting against the window
Was also as deafening
As the cackles inside.
A simple one-liner
Or a cheesy reference
Would erupt a room
Into incessant strings of Laughter.
Gee Willikers
My mother would always tell me
To stay away from words too colorful
For the vocabulary of a middle-schooler.
My once colorful palette
Dwindled to the few leftover words
My great-grandpa would say inorder
To censor himself around his great-grandchildren.
Each time I cut my finger on paper,
Or take a little tumble,
An old fashioned, “goodness me”
Or, “Oh brother” slips
Rather than my traditional terminology.
I don’t mind the change, however.
In each “gee williker,”
I carry a bit of my great-grandpa.
Spel Chek
The squiggly lines highlighting
My supposed error
My inability to correctly string
Incoherent phonetics and rules
Together.
The constant contradictions
Of i before e
Except after c
The confusing pairs stealing
The originality of f
How one vowel
Dominates the conversation while walking.
I hover over my error,
My inability to spell a simple english word
Sound out the intricate and complex combinations
That weave together a form of communication.
I right click the squiggles,
Conforming to the boundaries of spelling.
Rebirth
To be born
To live
To grow
To conform
To assimilate
To follow
To trap
To die.
Yet,
A sudden new thought
One unable to conform
Unable to box itself
In pretty packaging
And continue the generational cycle
Stricks the others.
An uprising
Perhaps a riot
Where sentences diversify
Structure holds no power
And something new is born.
A Renaissance.