i was inspired by the seemingly random bits of information and quirks that were used to describe and flesh out people. so i took it to the next level and created something that i’m really proud of. it hasn’t been edited a ton – please be gentle – but i hope y’all find it as inspiring as i did.
2 a.m. can’t sleep.
she’s a little too destructive,
dark circles walking the runway of her black and blue skin.
casting lengthy gazes down the hall,
hoping and dreaming of a better,
or simply brighter,
her eyelids droop over textbooks
and dog-eared pages that are smeared with eyeliner
and a neon green highlighter.
she laughs at the darkest of humor,
unsure where else is safe.
4 a.m. is a workaholic.
mocha frappe in hand.
another microwavable meal,
she hasn’t cooked in months.
her lips move frantically,
spewing words and stringing together fragmented ideas.
she runs in a hurry,
trying to catch a giant balloon of dreams,
floating high above her sleepless head.
she’s clumsy and klutzy,
but always smiles and waves hello
as she dances on by.
6 a.m. is a morning person.
friendly, happy glows
and a tune on her lips,
basking in the glow of the morning sunrise.
eggs in bed for a loved one,
just easily irritable.
she looks into the city
not to see the strangers,
only ever seeing the friends.
ignoring the negative,
embracing the endlessness of new beginnings.
8 a.m. is the life-balance expert.
she’s hard working at whatever,
planning her day down to the inch.
control is her bff,
putting them back where they belong
10 a.m. likes to lay around in bed after waking up.
“let’s go on a road trip…let’s travel the world,”
she whispers, submitting her last-minute draft just as the bell rings.
walking, picking wildflowers that match her wandering spirit,
falling in love with the easiest, most intricately created people.
her voice may be soft, but her heart will always be one click too loud.
12 p.m. likes sunny days without clouds.
she smiles brightly
asking genuine questions of concern at the sad note
in your voice.
‘changing the world, one person at a time’
it’s a motto to live by.
taste a new food,
take a different route,
experiment with a change of pace
or a change of style.
cuddle the friend,
find a way to make them smile again.
2 p.m. wants to take a nap on the chair at the mall.
she forgot the new neighbor’s name and today conversation is scarce.
tomorrow it will be on overdrive.
reach out and touch their arm, but wait, maybe it’s not a good idea
and now she’s standing there,
awkwardly and hesitantly caressing your bruised arm
from yesterday’s crossfire.
soul mates are hard to come by
when your soul doesn’t know how to open up
to let another fill in
ideas burn within her mind,
love boils over her hopeful heart,
hope guides her spirit to a new group of people.
…but she’s afraid…
so back to Ben and Jerry’s and Netlfix it is.
4 p.m. snaps if you anger her.
she’s not afraid to fight
and she will confront you about her beliefs.
the world could—
would be better if only people tried harder,
so maybe it’s up to her?
6 p.m. works long days.
she gives her best but sometimes that isn’t good enough and she hates herself
because it’s constant.
a nice meal made by her mom or her boyfriend cheers her up,
tomorrow it’s her turn to cook,
the rotation spins endlessly.
rolling hills cast gigantic shadows across the picnic blanket,
the pinkish, orangish sunset reaching its hands
into the red and white checkers.
she crawls into the bedroom and holds her child for the tenth time
while he drifts off to a peaceful slumber.
8 p.m. doesn’t want to put energy into anything unless it’s her idea.
she’s kind of a pushover and acts like everyone else
is beneath her,
but the why is a little more complicated
than high school seniors.
hanging by a thread,
her self image
is destroyed by a single moment in time,
soon to be forgotten by everyone
emergency phone calls and texts cry for help,
a silent plea in the night.
there she is,
standing in the doorway,
a silhouette of confidence and inspiration.
10 p.m. lives for a good party.
she laughs obnoxiously,
throwing her head back,
gasping for air
wiping her crying eyes with her manicured fingertips.
coming and going with the blue moon,
New York and
the Pacific Northwest
because the unknown equals freedom, right?
passion drives her actions.
sometimes it’s a little misguided.
12 a.m. survives because of lengthy, oddball conversations.
ghosts swim through her mind:
she’s on her twelfth episode of the new season of Supernatural,
not a care in the world.
extreme everything calls her wildly,
pushing her slowly into insanity.
but here she sits,
curled up in her bed,
blankets strewn around her bare feet,
tucked away into the nothingness of the night.