rden011

[rden011]

Outside The Room (I Still Exist)

It’s a strange thing to exist in rooms you aren’t in,

That people remember you when you aren’t in front of them,

That something can remind them of you,

To not be a loose thread off a faded hem.

I forget I exist outside of my own presence,

And so it’s always nice to find a reminder I’ve been seen,

A trail from my essence,

A joining at a seam.

[rden011]

Someone Special

I used to dream of being someone special,

I’d watch Matilda on repeat for hours,

Imagining I had secret powers.

I’d make up stories of mermaids, fairies, elves,

Tell them to my friends as truths,

Collect ‘magic trinkets’ on shelves.

When I watched a show, read a book,

I’d put myself inside of it.

Not as another character,

As myself but better.

I didn’t want to be them,

I wanted to be myself but special.

I stowed hundreds of these dreams within my head,

327 of them to be exact,

And never once put it to paper with lead.

I outgrew that several years ago,

When the world returned to life,

And time was passing far less slow.

But I still wish upon every repeating time,

Every railroad track,

Every star’s trailing line,

Every eyelash, thin and black.

Now my daydreams are about being remembered,

Not in grand ways, never as a hero,

But as the only glowing ember.

Who they will look back upon and say,

“There was a girl I knew back in the day,

Who always tried so hard to help,

Who made me laugh and listened ever so well.

Who always tried to be prepared,

Who hated debts and forever cared.

Who was quiet in a crowd and a crowd by herself,

Who collected memories on every shelf.”

I suppose in this life,

That is pretty special.

[rden011]

School Break

I cried before sleeping last night,

I didn’t cry myself to sleep,

rest never comes that easy.

I cried because it’s Winter Break and I have a cold,

So I haven’t felt human touch in 3 days,

Because my grandma is immunocompromised and my grandfather needs surgery,

And my parents are their only caretakers.

I haven’t spoken (really spoken, not texted) with anyone outside my family in two days,

Not even over the phone,

Because I’m not the person people call.

Because I can’t drive yet,

And even if I could, I’m not the person invited to hang out.

I wish that when I sent a text, the other person tried to keep the conversation going.

I wish I wasn’t always sending the first text.

I don’t like school breaks,

they show me how much people think of me when I’m not shoved in their face every day at school.

[rden011]

Needed not Wanted

I don’t know how to be wanted,

So I’ll keep trying to be needed.

My pockets will be heavy,

Weighing me down with everything they could ever need.

I’ll fall where it’s appropriate,

Make stupid comments when they need me to.

I’ll care for their wounds,

Aches,

I’ll be smart enough to help them,

But not enough for jealousy to form.

Maybe one day someone will like my convenience enough that I’ll become a welcome presence.

-Rden

[rden011]

Seasons Shift

I was never partial to summer,

With the hair growing bigger,

The air getting thicker.

I preferred winter,

With the snow,

The dark mornings,

The magical feel of the year’s close and start.

My birthday rests in the warm months,

So people oft assume my preference does too.

For me, that’s just another reason to despise it.

But if there was one reason to love summer,

It would be the outdoors.

Treading lightly on soft earth,

Hiking with friends,

Being out on the water feeling so free!

It’s almost enough to make me stand the heat.

-Rden

[rden011]

Time

I remember when I was younger,

When every day felt endless,

When each year seemed longer.

I don’t remember the first year that sped by,

I remember shock at the last day of school,

Then waving the summer goodbye.

Then I was in middle school,

And that year passed quickly too,

I shared skills I thought were cool,

Met some friends, lost a few.

The next, some bits are memorable,

But some are now unknown.

I remember our old table,

Being told we’re all going home.

Just for two weeks,

It’s a virus.

Just for a few months,

It’s an epidemic.

Just for two years,

It’s a pandemic.

And then we were back,

In a mask,

And I didn’t feel any older,

It all felt like an act,

But the time had passed…so I must be.

Eighth grade took me elsewhere,

I made new friends,

I made a place there.

But it went so quickly,

The year was over so soon.

And now I’ve done so much,

Tried so many new things,

But I’m almost 16?

Seven years since birthdays started having two meanings.

Gifts, fun, friends, party.

Time passing, lost opportunities, aging aging aging.

Has the time really passed?

I still feel stuck,

Back in 2019.

But the years keep on going,

Time keeps on flowing,

I keep growing,

Older.

So much has changed,

But I’m still me, right?

I’m still me?

-Rden

[rden011]

The Stairwell Poem, Falling

There’s a room behind a door,

In a place I think I’d been before.

The last time I was there, it was a place of fear,

But after this I hold it dear.

It is not a happy place,

No esteemed deed commemorated here.

Not a place of life,

No wealth to commandeer.

There’s a door that calls people,

And a magic mirror that will show you where.

Behind the door with that word,

There is a man,

And a marble floor,

And a stairwell.

Going down.

Nobody is afraid when they stand at the top.

They look down at the carvings they stand upon,

And nothing feels real.

Those who belong here always go down.

And when the man comes to make them fall,

They fight.

The man doesn’t like this job,

At least that’s what he says.

I don’t belong here,

He can not make me fall,

But the door has no handle,

So we talk.

He has scars,

From the people who he can’t let turn back.

He tells me of his mother,

“Of how she used to sing.”

He cannot leave the stairs,

So I tell him what the carvings say.

“Honor,” I say, and he looks down.

“Grace,” I say, and his eyes shift.

“Love,” I say, and there are tears.

“Height,” I say, and there are footsteps outside.

I don’t understand,

Not yet,

But I will when I wake.

The footsteps stop outside,

And the door opens a crack.

My fingers dart, not fast enough,

But my legs are long and they cannot keep me in.

They tried to close it,

My leg hurts where it digs in,

And the man in the stairwell puts down the sullied thing in his hand,

Because he doesn’t want to be there,

But he has to stay,

So he shouts his name.

And I was out the door.

He did not know I had been there before.

He thought I had no clue of his job.

But my friend had said the door was for him,

And I had watched him fall.

I had seen him fight,

I had seen his end,

I had seen their tears.

But it was not the place for me,

So I went free.

I do not hate the man in the stairwell,

For he hates his work too.

And I saw the names he wrote,

To remember what he’s done.

So I wrote his name,

On the corner of my shirt.

And I remembered him.

But then I woke up,

And now I can’t remember his name.

But I knew what the words meant,

And the word on the door.

-Rden

[rden011]

Take It With Me

So much of who I am today,

I am because of you.

For every moment that we spent,

I became something new.

At 10 I saw the worlds you built,

The lives you wove with a pen,

To make things grow instead of wilt,

I decided to join in.

Those pages about birds were a catalyst,

A means to make me hatch.

You taught me I could do more than read,

That I could write as well.

Just because we bickered often,

Doesn't mean you’d been forgotten.

With you I solved puzzles galore,

We’d log in to play, try more and more.

It hurts that we don’t talk anymore,

Sharp claws dig in, making me sore.

You taught me to look for clues,

That I could solve the case.

Just before the world got sick,

You showed us a new world.

Where we could be elves,

Dragons,

Demons,

Changeling,

Where we could wield a sword.

You taught me the rules,

Kept us connected,

Showed me the songs I’d grow to adore.

You taught me the joy of pretend,

That stories didn’t need to be written.

I always admired you,

Maybe more than I should’ve.

It was hard not to,

You just seemed so perfect.

Your art was a level I thought I’d never achieve,

Then the world closed down and I used that reprieve.

Now it is how I relax,

How I provide,

How I show I care.

You showed me another medium,

That my hands could make lovely things.

You taught me who to call my friends,

How to show the world I cared.

When times were rough you held me through,

My friends for all those years.

I’m a different person now,

In part because of you.

But I still write,

And solve,

And play,

And draw,

All thanks to you.

-Rden

[rden011]

Station Eleven

Walking the streets of the city when it went dark,

A call from an old friend soon to die,

There’s a virus,

Prepare,

Run,

Or within a day you will die.

Running through the streets of a city,

Stocking up on provisions,

The cashier looking at you as if you’ve gone mad.

Prepare,

Run,

You may not survive but you might as well try.

To your brother’s house,

To Frank,

In his room you barricade yourself from the plague,

You watch the news until the grid turns off,

He ghost writes for a ghost.

Hide,

Survive,

So many people have already died.

There are cars in the streets,

So few people.

Those who remain are feral or hidden.

When the snow falls and you know there will be no savior,

You set off through the snow.

Your brother wouldn’t make it,

He decided now was as good a time as any for death.

You wander through the world,

Find a motel and build a new life,

Where you aren’t a paparazzi,

Or a journalist.

You keep people alive,

You have a daughter.

—

On a plane when it went dark,

You make an emergency stop in Severn.

There’s a virus,

Collect yourself,

Read a book,

You didn’t know how important that moment would be.

Sitting in an airport terminal,

A girl needs her meds,

A plane wants to land and empty,

You don’t let it.

The people remained inside,

Collect yourself,

Keep things running,

A lost boy will read psalms to them, tell them they died for a reason.

A little settlement,

Elizabeth and Tyler sitting quietly in their madness.

You shave your hair,

Please I need to feel like myself again.

A high functioning sleepwalker,

A corporate slave no more.

When they leave,

You put their pictures in the display.

You must not forget what came before,

The days you offered Miranda a smoke.

A museum, A Museum of Civilization.

It would be less painful to let go,

So hold on.

Terrible things have come from this airport,

You see traces of him in the people from the Symphony.

It is a refuge from his own evils,

A place of memories,

Station Eleven brings him back,

He wonders if ships are sailing again across the seas.

—

So many more still in this world,

Who survived somehow,

Against the odds.

A man who cared for his whole family,

They only survivor,

He wonders why he’s still alive.

He supposes he must be immune,

Would it be worse knowing you could have been a cure?

A girl who remembers little of the world from before,

She holds a paperweight,

From Clark to Miranda to Arthur to her.

She read Station Eleven,

She shares that with the prophet,

Did it mean as much to him?

A boy who knows about Star Trek,

Who remembers the loneliness before the fall.

He remembers air conditioning.

He remembers early hours in front of the TV.

He sits and prays for any dead he finds.

Why is he less alone in the apocalypse?

So many taken from this world,

Victims of probability,

They caught the odds.

A woman who finally had found herself,

Who was staying at a hotel.

The impact her comics would have on two survivors.

Did the doorman survive?

A playset in an empty house,

The only thing not covered in dust.

There was once a girl there,

Did she at least outlive her parents?

All those whose stories aren’t told here,

They die a second time.

Far too many lives to count,

What more could they have done if they had the time?

As a reader of this picked over world,

I must choose sympathy or apathy,

As the plague that nurtured me was not nearly so severe.

The world survived my disease,

But still emerged changed.

We all emerged changed.

-Rden

[rden011]

No Regrets

Words are powerful

To pinion or heal

To anger or lull

And if tomorrow you were gone

And I had to weigh my words

Could I say we had fun?

I do not want regrets

So should I not live?

You asked me why I fret

And it is because I do not know

I was afraid of the dark because

Of secrets and hidden things

And I’m afraid of death

For its uncertainty

So I will be genuine

So I will be me

And hope to have no regrets.

-Rden

[rden011]

Ithika, Remorse

She gave you the marvelous journey,

She has nothing left to give you now,

And if you find her poor, she won’t have fooled you.

She was the reason your journey started, your roots.

You will see all manner of wondrous things in your travels,

By the time you return,

Your eyes will no longer be clouded.

You will see that the place you struggled so hard to reach was just a measly speck,

Nothing left to show you.

But you will still hold it fondly in your heart, for it gave you a journey.

-Rden

[rden011]

Innocent Deaths

Perhaps when they killed Iphigenia

Or any other innocent through the years,

The gods stopped not out of thanks,

But a realization of their fears.

I imagine that the loss of an innocent,

The death of one under your care,

Is more painful than that of an equal

Because it means that you’ve failed.

Like when a fish tank cracks,

Spews small bodies across the floor,

Trying to take in the oxygen they lack

From the filled-with-it air.

And you can’t save them all,

As you hold your hands over the crack tight,

Screaming for help,

Stuck witnessing their plight.

So next time you double check, triple check,

Keep replaying scenarios in your falsely omnipotent mind,

To keep them from harm,

You’d do anything this time.

-Rden

[rden011]

How High!

They call me a tragedy, but why?

It was no accident I went so high.

I saw the apex,

The final arc,

Once you’ve seen the sun,

You can’t settle for a spark.

It's better that I fell,

I’d have spent my life striving higher,

I was at the apex,

I was on fire.

I lived in darkness,

Cast into that labyrinth.

My days were pointless,

But now I’m a myth.

They call it hubris,

But I reached the sky and sea,

A man flew,

Is that not a victory?

I live on in your memory,

But don’t see me as a tragedy.

I chose my fate,

Now remember me.

-Rden

[rden011]

Smile.

Smiling makes you happy,

Smiling fools your brain.

When you’re sad you should smile,

It’ll wash away the pain.

Why am I not allowed to be sad?

You just keep saying ‘mind over matter’,

Some day it’ll drive me mad.

That day,

In that dress,

When my face grew tired,

When I let the corner of my lips draw down,

The fact that people were SHOCKED?

That from that they saw a frown?

Now when I’m afraid,

When I’m upset,

When all I want is to cry,

My mouth pulls into a smile,

And they all think I’m fine.

Why are you not upset?

Do you not even care?

No I do,

I’m not emotionless I swear!

I brought you tissues because I wasn’t crying,

Because you were and I wanted to help.

I can’t give you the comfort you need,

I don’t know how to comfort myself.

My dry eyes weren’t mocking you,

When they watched you hug a friend.

They were wishing they were wet,

So I didn’t need to pretend.

-Rden

[rden011]

“See? Still think my idea is nuts? Wait a minute. It is nuts. What’s the matter with me? Am I insane?”

- Marco, Book #29: The Sickness, pg. 41 (by K.A. Applegate)

[rden011]

“'I just had a thought,’ Marco said.

‘I’ll buy you a card to commemorate the moment.“ Rachel, of course.”

- Book #29: The Sickness (Cassie), pg. 43 (by K.A. Applegate)

[rden011]

“The door opened. Two people stood there, glaring at us. A teenager in a Burger King uniform. And a manager.

‘I’m just trying to let my little brother go to the bathroom,’ Jake said, patting me on the shoulder.

The kid and the man both looked down at me. I was standing inside a sweatshirt that was so huge it lay in folds around my feet. Which was a good thing, since my feet were talons. The arms hung limp.

‘Your little brother?’ the manager asked. 'Why’s his sweatshirt so big?’

'Hey, that sweatshirt was signed by Steve Young!’ Jake said. Like that was an explanation.

'Something’s wrong with his face!’ the kid said.

Jake put his arm around me protectively. 'Don’t listen to them, Tommy,’ he said, with a sob in his voice. 'Your face is just fine! It’s just fine, I tell you! The doctors say someday you may be normal again.’

'Hey, I didn’t mean anything by…’ the kid said.

'What is it?’ the manager asked in a concerned tone. 'I mean, his disease.’

Jake went blank. 'Um…’

<Beakanoma,> I whispered to Jake in thought-speak.

'Beakanoma,’ Jake said.

<A growth in the shape of a beak,> I explained.

'It’s a, uh, a growth in the shape of a beak,’ Jake said.

<It’s especially tragic and all because it only afflicts really smart, really cute people,> I said.

'Oh, shut up,’ Jake muttered under his breath.”

- Book #20: The Discovery (Marco), pg. 24 (by K.A. Applegate)