Bubbles
Lindsey Nystrom, 11
Trees are growing from my desk
Paper and Pencil and Hollywood stress
We’re reading about old ideas instead of making our own,
Our thought bubbles are becoming scantron bubbles
While we clash with turn ins and freak outs and shut ins and meltdowns
So, “Please excuse me while I kiss the sky”
Neon signs that say “A+” hang from my bedroom ceiling
Plugged into competition but charged by confusion
“If she is electric, can I be electric too”
Obstinance sinks deeper as we approach the coastline
Until finally tidal waves of wonder wash away our worry
We’re searching for sense in the middle of a storm
We are unpredictable and childish and eventually we’ll pop
And then the popping sounds fade and in comes the chorus
The crescendo is deafening, we are not constrained.