Write With Adora

the collected works of youth literati. read. write. publish.


Open. Close. 

Better yet, hang it on the door.

I’ll wait until no one is around,

So I can freely stick my head out,

Grab between my fingers, hold tight,

Take command, break night;

And then, slowly, unbutton, unzip, untie,

Uninhibited simulations of what it holds

To get a glimpse of what could come to be.

On. Off.

Or perhaps, a fixed blank stare; that, 

Leaves me unable to read 

What your eyes now eagerly try to disclose.

I can’t understand them for mine remain

Distant in that blank stare you first gave

When you shook my hands, and politely tried to

Fake delight, when it actually resided elsewhere.

In. Out. 

Or right in between. Stuck in the middle.

Too afraid to move

Up or down; 

    a definite position is terrifying to embrace.

Living halfway, just as unbearable.

What to do, I ask myself, over burnt toast

     and an emptying glass of hope.

Wait, replies the draft that escapes from under the door.

Same door that hung uninhibited simulations

Of what could come to be, but hasn’t yet come to pass.

Reset. Wait… Enjoy. 

By Ginel Salvador