Doorway

They expect me to grow up
with my head ducked under a Doorway
compressed, sheltered, naive
not understanding that when
the blinders are released from the edges of my eyes,

I will leap willingly from what they've built for me, and realize
that there is a whole other earth, a whole other land another land
with golden roads and witches and men made of tin
loves and brains, and prizes to win.
No hesitation,
I will cry and sing and dance -
live my life and take the chance
but for now

I'm trapped under this old
wooden Doorway,
blinders stuck to the side of my head.
Able to see only what I am allowed to see -
instead of what I want to see instead,
leaving my Wonderful World of Oz
Yet to be discovered.

Color Outside the Lines

Lately I have been feeling so lonelyanddullandtiredandhopeless. It's been a pity party everyday - crying when no one can hear me at tired late hours. It's not their fault, because they are alone, too, with their heads buried deep underneath pillows.

Friends at school have been asking lately "You okay?" Periodically, time and time again, I bob my head up and down. Yes, yes, I am okay. I have nothing not to be okay about. This is all true - there is not a single thing in my life to complain about (except the weather... seasonal depression definitely plays a part). I live in a wonderful neighborhood and ward, have a wonderful family, wonderful teachers, wonderful friends, and work at a wonderful store where I can get wonderful clothes for wonderfully cheap prices!

So what is the matter?

I think, but not certain, that I'm going through a whole changemyself time in my life. I like tearing things apart just to create something new. Though I am happy where I am right now spiritually and socially, but I think that within myself, there are things I am not happy with. I am questioning everyone and everything. Analyzing people, situations, and philosophies. I get bothered easily. The more I am "growing up" (ha), the more protective my parents become -- and in the long run, I'm afraid that's going to cripple me. I feel imprisoned and naive. I know I'm only fifteen, and by no means free to do what I want, but the judgment I get at home for thinking outside the box can, at times, become suffocating.

I am seeing myself and my life from a whole other angle, and I'm still deciding whether I like it or not.

This is a poem my English teacher wrote. I found it rather inspiring and interesting, she and I think a lot alike.

My Artist

Can you see me in color?

Or is your vision just as skewed.

Decisions are black and white-

isn't that how it has always been viewed-

trained to see only in shades.

Where is the color?

Make time for this change-

Stop, and notice.

White is only your canvas-

black simply the guidelines.

Color is the personality-style-soul-mine

Know you paint your own picture-

and it's absolutely beautiful.

Too inspired to be bias or blind.

Am I broken?- I'm finally seeing in color.

They're so vibrant and clever.

Your colors drown my ignorance.

Completely capturing my vision-

my artist, my wisdom.

Now that I see you-

I'll never misuse or abuse you.

Honest in my portrayal-

will you keep me?

Filling in my lines;

and covering my canvas.

I'll catch your colorful eyes-

like you've captured mine.

My Artist.

Kimber