WHEN I’M OLD
By Celine Awad
When I get to a point,
where
years mean less than words;
when I get to a point,
where
I have just as many filled journals as experiences,
that’s when I’ll be ‘old’.
I’ll be old when
I step off a spaceship from quantum physics,
when
I am able to bring forward to this world more than I can carry,
information that I have to quite literally load off of my shoulders,
when,
the ‘meaning of life’ can strut down my tongue and pose beautifully for everyone to see.
When I’m old,
I hope
to gain the title wise instead.
I hope my work gains me the title wise instead.
And I never want to forget that in the alphabet I keep of different philosophies and metaphors to explain them,
stoicism should be the last.
Because eventually, you’ll run out of time to keep holding breath;
eventually, years will mean less than words.
And what is poetry without pain?
Maybe the word isn’t legacy but I’ve yet to add a better one to my vocabulary.
So until then,
when I’m wise, I want to leave a legacy on this earth to be utilized.
All I wish is that when I pass, I’ll reincarnate into the moon,
in hopes that I’ll glow bright enough to illuminate someone’s paper while they write in the dark.
So I’ve got my intentions set some other direction than straight—
because the best work?
Well, I’ve never seen it line up in any form that makes too much sense until the piece is finished.
I want a body of work that holds pieces for everyone.
I would like my poetry to sit in prisons and palaces.
We forget too often how soft gold really is.
And in the alphabet I keep of different philosophies and metaphors to explain them, I want stoicism to be the last.
RIVERS
By Celine Awad
I sit and watch you try and swim against the current,
rushing to the waterfall of tears you refuse to fall down.
You’re bruised by the rocks that you continuously crash into while doing so.
I sit and watch you cry for a boy who loves the taste of salt.
I try and explain to you,
That the drop down will only flow you to calmer water.
That the breathless moments won’t compare to the fresh air and dry land your now-cleansed lungs and beating heart have worked so hard for.
That it will pay off.
You tell me you’re afraid of drowning,
that bruises heal.
Scars last forever,
and rocks are sharp.
But I think you hope you’ll find crystals if your body is strong enough to split them open.
You hope your skin will dull their points.
Smooth rocks are for skipping.
I say,
what will you do when you lose your stone in a river of your own blood?
What will you do when all you are is weak, and you could break hardly from the tap of a pebble?
You tell me you have tough skin and a keen eye.
No skin is tough enough to walk through hundreds of rocks,
before turning the water into waste.
No eye is keen enough to find a stone in a red river when dusk lingers.
White Lies aren’t seen in the dark.
The day is still young,
you tell me.
The sun will light up the sky,
and all the way down to the bottom of the river bed.
There will be enough time.
I look outside.
It’s raining today.
I ask you who keeps your sky lit.
You don’t answer.
But now the day is turning to night, and the water is no longer half-transparent between compliments. The glow from your text app just isn’t as bright as the sun.
And your cries are burning your cheeks too hot for anything to validate them anymore.
Your eyes become red as the way your skin is scabbed over, and you look to me with an innocence and an underlying honesty.
I tell you,
you’ve been trying to swim against the current for too long.
To relax your arms.
I tell you to let go
But you tell me,
that you’re afraid of drowning.
So I watch you sink.
Celine Awad is a fourteen year old from Rosemount, Minnesota. There was a point where she was looking for coping mechanisms at a time in her life when they were needed. She was going to cross “journaling” off the list. She didn’t have much confidence in it, but discovered that this was the best way for her to express herself. As she continued to journal, it wasn’t long before she became progressively more fluid in writing poetry. She began devoting much time to developing the skill. She decided she wanted to find an outlet to share her work, and here she is!