I opened the fridge this morning and went to grab a water bottle.
The transparent bottle glistened under the florescent light.
The label that read ‘Poland Spring’ depicted majestic mountains
And peaceful rivers
Lined with towering pines.
The unique shape was that of an hourglass,
Lissome and refined.
Tasteless, modest, unassuiming,
The secret to life.

I picked up my pencil last night to start my homework.
The color contrast was brilliant.
Slate amongst a field of sunflowers.
Sleek, sharp and powerful.
The ability to do the undoable: Take back its words;
Erase all it’s mistakes.
Smells like childhood. Familiar.
My outlet, my voice.

In art class this afternoon I carried a bottle of glue.
The slender rectangular container yielded a view of the thick white goo inside.
It was sticky to perfection,
Wonderfully malleable.
The liquid dripped and then flowed.
Reserved then unimpeded.
It laced in and out of my fingers,
Weaving a web of translucency,
Slowly solidifying to the shape of my skin,
Begging not to be peeled off.