The end of the high (school) road

By Brooke Kimbrough
I am ready to uproot some weeds. People, "friends", will dig into you like freshly
moistened soil.
You trust them.
You don't recognie how !ulnera"le you'!e let yourself "ecome, until the first weed
sprouts.
"#hat happened to the daises$" you wonder as the sun "egins to rise.
The weed starts to grow. %rom casual &okes to "latant insults. They ha!e thorns now. You
weren't always so needy "ut you are now. They ha!e sucked you dry. 'ry from your
gi!ing.
(re you gi!ing tree$
You once en&oyed the youthful playing. )ut now, it's not a game anymore. I ha!e no
"ranches, or apples, or help, or comfort, or understanding "ecause my lawn is matted.
"It's a &ungle out there" they say. I can't help "ut draw the parallels "etween the &ungle
"out there" and the &ungle "in here".
They are one in the same.
You are not the proud tree* you're a chameleon.
( common character in &ungle.
(!erage. +tandard. ,-pected$
These are the "est years of your life they say. +o you "lend. You "lend like the eye.
shadow on the first pair of your four eyes.
)link.
In that second we see something that you'!e "een hiding. "#ho is there$"
+o you "lend again. You gra" the paint"rush and get some colours and mi-. That's not the
colour you wanted. )ut you are painted already. You are the master chameleon. The
gi!ing connoisseur.
/r is that e!en who you are$
"#ho are you$" I wonder. You ha!e a grip on pieces of you. It's like going to "uild.a."ear
workshop in a lot of ways. You pick out a "ody suit, it's not fit or slim, in fact it's kind of
s0uishy and soft. It's cute. You stuff it with a "unch of white shit "ecause there's nothing
real to put in there. Then a heart. +ew it without putting the insides in order "ecause, to "e
honest, it doesn't really matter.
You walk around and find ridiculous clothes to put on and call it a day. You pay for the
e-pensi!e nothings and walk out &ust as empty as "efore you walked in.
You're all there, !isually speaking.
+o why are you so. . . incomplete$ You're hopeful though. You remem"er the days when
your garden was "eautiful* "ranches full, can!as clean, and &ust you.
In a few days you'll "e mo!ing away. #ho will mend the garden while your gone$
This garden is a cemetery now.
It is death of insecurity.
%alse entitlement.
+hallow friends.
+heltered life.
(nd capti!ity.
You are mo!ing to your own &ungle. Pulling the ropes of nature and starting o!er. (nd
this time you'll look down and see (unfortunately it's mostly cornfields in this &ungle) a
"udding flower. You can't distinguish what it is, "ut it is "eautiful isn't it$
#ater the soil.
#ait for the ne-t memories to grow.