This one may be too personal a poem. Even when a poem talks about personal stories and struggles it should be able to be universally felt, and I don’t know if this one ever achieved that state. Also, I need to try and have the formatting match the original, so this may be a little icky.


When did you first notice?
When did you realize,
That you were on the Edge?
Did you look at the playground,
Filled with herds of children,
And feel how distant they were?

In the Center are the slides,
And the field with the bases,
Two manhole covers
arising from the grass.

It was there you tried football,
That memory never faded.
The feeling of hands around your throat,
Of being whipped aside like garbage,
Lying there coughing and stunned
While everyone ran past
And the teachers looked away.

I don’t want to play football again.

Closer to the school
The blacktop, where girls drew with chalk,
jumped rope, or met in secret covens.
It was here you played soccer,
You remember what happened?
The ball flew,
faster than you could see, smashing
into your face.

Is my eye broken?
Am I going to go blind?
I’m never playing goalie again.

Was it the same back then?
Did you sit outside the crowds,
Knowing you didn’t belong.
Did you sit amongst the others,
Like a moth amongst butterflies,
A silence amongst noise?

I hear secrets,
Because everyone ignores me.
Am I invisible?

Do you remember the hole,
The small opening in the woods
At the back of the playground?
The one you tried to go through,
But your plastic wings were too big,
And you were afraid they’d pop.

I know a secret place,
A hidden grove,
No one else goes there
Because it is so far away
And only big enough for one.

Do you remember what you were looking for,
What you were seeking at the edge of the world?

Because I don’t.

New Vote: “Wires” or “Tower of Babel”


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