Amber Boyce

My Grandmother

By Amber Boyce
Hartford Memorial Middle School, Grade 8

My grandmother sits, hair permed to perfection. She has gray hairs playing peek-a-boo in a mass of brunette dye.
My grandfather sits in his chair, his snow white hair tightly around his head. His glasses barely cling to his face as he leans over his paper.
Sentimental feelings wrapped in the splendor of romance can make time stand still.

Fear clenches my throat,
And I choke on the air I managed to gasp in.
I’m being suffocated by this emotion.
An alarm has been set off.
All I can hear is the distressed screeching,
Of my heartbeat inside my head.

Waiting

I wish I
could melt the depression,
That has coiled itself,
Around your heart,
Be the satisfaction you need,
Instead of cold metal
Prying open your skin.

Watching blood flow
Upon your skin
Like
Autumn
Leaves
Skittering
Across a
Frosted
Ground.
Frozen

The mud makes slurping sounds as it pulls my feet down into an unknown world of filth. I try to separate myself from it, but it seems bonded. The mud is a part of me. I keep getting pulled under. The ground is teasing my feet with its slimy surface. As I draw in my last breath before I am completely consumed, I realize I am staring into the face of a pile of mud. I am unscathed.

Cheating
One little
peek, No p
one will i
know, But me suc l cess
How will I sleep at night? l
Like a baby, o
With my A+ w.
Whispering, Through my

Stress is something that propels you towards a cliff
And before you know it, you are tumbling farther and farther
Right before you hit rock bottom you explode destroying everything around
Sometimes there is a small ledge you can land on before you explode
Carefully you can try to climb back up the mountain
But stress has no safety net
Hopefully you don’t explode