| Pomegranate Words |
Script for Reality by Sarah M. Hinson, 15, Monroe, Connecticut It is impossible to write a script for the reality play To one it may be reality To others less fortunate, a dream? And even if one wrote this script, would it be true for others? To you it may be waking up bright and early Not to the rooster's crow but to the Monday morning traffic report Dressing in your three piece suit Grab a bagel and coffee on your way out the door Just another day, in your reality To a dirty little boy sitting in the alleyway it may be Finally finding the remains of a half-eaten spaghetti dinner With a garlic roll now crawling with ants But providing enough energy to use his knobby knees To get to the next dumpster To an old lady it may be daydreaming out her tiny window Looking down this dark space between her building and the next Curiously observing a small silhouetted figure that looks like a boy Numbing her ears to the steady beeping noise Her only chance for survival Scattered across her tray where the plastic medicine cup is still rolling Side to side Side to side As her eyelids slowly creep over her faded blues She wonders whether she will wake up or not For the weeping mother it could be Waking up around noon Peering out the window at the glaring rays of sunshine And shielding the light from her weary bloodshot eyes Brushing aside the mountains of used tissues Wandering around aimlessly before once again repeating her routine That she knows not like the back of her hand Because she doesn't even look at the back of her hand But like the curves of his face Driving by all the places he usually went All the memories flood back as she sees a middle-aged mother Strolling around in the park with her son And trying to keep ahold of her little one As he reaches for anything and everything he sees And she wishes that it was her, her reality And she finds herself at the nursing home doors once more But she can't force herself to go in To the prettiest girl in high school It may be strutting down the hallways Oblivious to the open jaws and stares With a huge white gleaming smile on her face Girls want to be her, guys want to be with her But they don't know that every night she hesitates to go through her screen door To the man on the couch, smelling of barbecue potato chips and Heineken Who no one sees outside with his children or at church on Sundays Every day she takes the long way home from school Between buildings and pathways But it does not change her fate The man who she hides from is waiting for her there And each night as he takes her innocence from her She cannot help but curl up in her corner Wishing away her reality Rocking herself slowly Back and forth Back and forth Until she finally falls asleep and dreams About the little boy she saw sleeping in the alleyway And for me It may seem as though everything is just fine I wake up and go to work Come home and eat dinner Go out with friends Talk to the boyfriend that loves me Go to sleep with a shy smile on my face But they don't know That at work I sometimes creep off into the bathroom Around lunchtime when nobody's there Only sniffles can be heard Then I fix my mascara and take a good look But I am disgusted at what looks back at me Head hanging low I return to my cubicle And as I wind my spaghetti noodles and force myself to eat At dinner, casual conversation goes on about our days I simply put on a smile and tell them of the events of the day Remembering to leave out that during working hours I could be found writing poetry to escape this madness I possess Then take a stroll down the road to an alleyway Dump my half-eaten spaghetti dinner into a nearby dumpster And return to my dark house silhouetted across the street After I wash my face and turn out the light Feel around for my bed and sigh as I finally can lie down I pull out the tissue box from under my bed And as the tears cascade down my cheek And my eyes flood once more I struggle and shakily turn the corners of my mouth upward Until I shake no more, and my breathing slows to a steady pace Some might call it a smile Some might call it a frown in disguise I call it hope I don't know how but it has remained with me And for some reason I am still here Even though no one can understand No one sees the vivid nightmares No one gets chills when a short man walks by on the streets of New Haven No one is so completely distorted that they don't even know what they are anymore Maybe, just maybe you could try to understand Not understand who I am Or how I think Or how I feel But understand why you can't possibly understand me Because you are not in my reality For me to tell my story I would have to write A chapter for every frown A book for every tear A volume for every cut A series for every attempt And I still would not be able to put into words how I feel Or the typical businessman Or the little boy sleeping soundly next to the dumpster Or the old woman in the nursing home Or the grieving mother Or the high school prom queen Because it is all in their reality The reality that you cannot see or touch That lingers above us when we sit on our porch after it rains That is at the place where the sun hits the ocean That is on the second-to-last page in the newspaper where no one looks That is in the petals when you smell a rose That is in ice cold lemonade on a hot summer day That is guiding a tear and tells it which way to fall That is the reason why lightning bugs light up That is why you fall in love That is the smell of towels fresh out of the dryer That is a tsunami in the Sahara That is what makes gold sparkle That is who holds you tight when you have nowhere to turn That is only your reality, and no one else's It is who you are And where you are What you are And everything around you How you effect the world How you try to understand Or how you try to help me Frustrated into a hurricane of confusion Just why am I this way? Maybe if you were me Would you enter my reality? Then could you understand? Everyone is connected through their realities Yet everyone is different People are so wrapped up in their own lives That they don't even notice the others If they knew what went on in people's lives Would they finally be able to understand? We will never know that, but All I know is Even if you walked a mile in my shoes You would just be a mile away With half a dozen blisters And old, tattered shoes. |