a poem in free verse by Teresa
I scream what is left of my heart into a bottle,
Let its contents sail through my blood.
Wicked currents, violent storms —
Oh god, a tidal wave.
Dear, I’m begging you to run.
You’re going to drown in these waters.
Help does not come to those who bother the bothered.
How difficult it is to write about love.
Teresa is in ninth grade. She says, “I love art, but writing is the only form of art that I completely relish. I suck at drawing; anatomy is hard.”