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Failure, Fear, Freedom
If the other side of the door I always longed to open reveals nothing,
I will just place the delicately signed papers down on the floor.
The 8 year degrees and the cursive signatures and the folded letters.
I will try not to be sad. I might be sad.
But I really, really, always wanted to try starting a compost box.
I will try to start one. I will figure it out.
While I do, I think I will set my lentil sprouts by the window.
I might buy the expensive paint while they grow.
There will be a long solid line that travels from the door
to the ceiling. And along the way, leaves will sprout.
On my walls first but then in my fresh pot of soil,
Blended with a homemade compost of ink-stained paper and apple peels,
A path will spiral throughout the room until it returns to the door
with the pen-marker mural.
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The purpose of this poem is to simultaneously highlight and combat 3 things. Failure, fear, and freedom, which are concepts I often think about with much apprehension. I am told it is natural because many other kids my age are going through the same as we prepare to begin the next chapter of our lives. I agree it is normal, but it is not actually natural. My poem is a reclamation of the suppressed human natures of curiosity and creation, which we tend to sacrifice as we become caught up in society's norms. Although it does not necessarily seem to be a comforting poem, I find that open expression of uncertainty leads to more self-discovery than whatever a paper labels your accomplishments to be. Self-assurance grants more internal peace than money, and I encourage my peers not to neglect the passions our spirits gravitate toward as we enter the next few decades of our beautiful lives. Balance is key.