New Shoes (written June 30, 2015)

She wonders how many times she is permitted to be
reborn.
How many second chances are really in the gumball machine.
What to do when she runs out of
quarters.

She wakes up sweating, gasping, but her dreams have only ever been
normal.
Mundane. She forgets what she’s supposed to wish for on birthday candles
so instead asks for nightmares, but only as an afterthought,
once the wax is already cooling on the
frosting.

She lives for epiphanies. Determination revelations.
New Year’s Eves, new hair cuts.
She worships Mondays and their knock-off clean slates.
Every midnight was named after her. Or maybe she was named after
midnight.

She wonders how many new people she’s allowed to slip on
before somebody up there puts his foot
down.
Wonders if she’ll get squished.
She wonders which second chance she’ll
die in.

~

I wrote this poem roughly a year ago, and think about the line, “she worships Mondays and their knock-off clean slates” approximately five thousand times a day. Realistically, I know every split second is another chance to be completely brand new, but there’s something about the ceremony and glamour of an Official New Beginning that I can’t shake my love for.

So in a handful of days I’m turning 19. The last year as a ‘teen.’ I’m taking it as my cue to finally slip into a pair of new shoes that I will feel proud to conquer the world in. This blog, and the domain of poetgoes across the social media board, is a place to document the growing pains and triumphs, with a heaping dose of poetry and photography. I’m very excited. I’ve dreamt about running a blog for a long, long time, and I’m eager to see all it will bring me.

To all the people who’ve stuck with me through each new epiphany, thank you. To those who have left, thank you too. I wouldn’t know who I want to be without each and every one of you.

Nothing changes if nothing changes.

xx,
Meg