The following are two poems that I originally wrote for a literary magazine published at my high school.




I walk across these hallowed halls

Go past the classrooms and bare walls

I see my friends each school day

But the street, the street, still goes one way


I talk to them, they talk to me

I like them but I still canít see

Sometimes I can speak, other times I canít say

Thus the street, the street, still goes one way


What I cannot say I can still write

At the end of the sentence is where I fight

Can I write how I feel? Maybe I may

As the street, the street, goes down one way


As long as the workweekís typically spent

And as often as my parents pay rent

The struggles will come and go away

As the street, the street, still travels one way


Sometimes I lose, sometimes I win

With the lumps and cuts I take to fit in

Yes thatís sometimes the price the I pay

As I walk the street that goes one way


Sometimes I donít feel or understand

The reason and rhyme for the rules at hand

My tone did change one year in May

While the street, the street, still remained one way


Yet I still struggle with a sensation I feel

Though the mandate Iím given is still very real

With the figure thatís shaped so it wonít go astray

As the street, the street, still stays one way


The tone of which I was scared to break

Yet change it did, new views it did make

And the mess at night thatís still here to stay

Was silent as the street still went one way


But I no longer care about the streetís path

Itís still worth the joy and the aftermath

As my friends often keep my frustration at bay

Let the street, that street, remain one way






I sit in my room with the music I play

The songs that I hear by ear each day


Iím comforted each day by the music I hear

By the songs that I play and learn through the ear


Iím disabled, they said, at the day of my birth

Thatís how it would be since my first day on Earth


I now know what they meant as I walk through the halls

Of this high school now with its classrooms and walls


Itís my lunch theyíve assigned in the cafeteria now

I walk in not knowing while others know how


I can hear what is said off the tip of the tongue

But I canít read the eyes on the fact what is done


And I walk in not knowing if Iíll be welcome

And if this is the day Iíll be told not to come


And I walk in each day like a gambler to bet

If the day of rejection is to come yet


And sometimes Iím told I am such a good friend

Yet I still cannot know if this day is the end


And they all seem to know and expect to be welcome

Yet I never know if I can sit down and come


For they were right about my disability

And I might never know whoís a friend to me


For I can only know if the words are spoken

Not by eyes or nose or by temperamentís token


Or I might be selfish, can I truly expect

For the words to be said when they think Iím upset


We are told to be honest but to be polite

And to sometimes hide the truth that may be right


To speak of the tongue they say is crude

To show of the eyes and the mouth is less rude


Yet even though I may not know who is my friend

My music that I play shall stay until the end


And that is why I stay on my bed

And play the music from within my head


For though I am disabled and cannot always know

My music is the friend I will always show




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