you can't predict the future

you can’t predict the 

future, i tell myself through 

hazy clouds of orange-scented daydreams, you

could never have predicted the present, fists clenched 

too loosely by my sides,

wishing wishing wishing for something that

won’t happen, lavender bubbles & hazelnut grass, sonder scented

apple trees, dancing through springs & wild clover tea, you

can’t predict the future, i

can’t predict the future, but i have a million ideas for what it

could / should 

be like based on what i want 

now, and i know what i want will change but i still

predict the future, or at least i try, scribbling words i 

pretend will change the world or 

at least win some contest, you

can’t predict the future, fists closing around

empty air that i thought would be 

moonlight tea, the

stars are falling out of the sky, leaving

too dark of a night, you

can’t predict the future, i

can’t predict the future, i’m in a 

dark tunnel and i

pretend i can see a light. 

This is my first time posting my poetry to the CB, and I'm sort of self-conscious about sharing my writing, so I'm under an alias for now. It's not nearly as good as the ones you all post, but it was fun to write. Anyway, here's my entry for the prompt "future"~ 

dreaming of stars

when she was a girl, she

dreamed of stars, of

glowing embers suspended in the heavens

when she raced around the yard, 

dressed in a spacesuit made of

cardboard & duct tape, she

dreamed of stars, of

sailing through the darkened sky

when it was time to go to sleep,

she told her father to leave

the blinds open, so

she could go to sleep

still dreaming of stars

even now, she 

dreams of stars, of

smoldering cinders suspended in the heavens

when her creased hands fondle the quilt,

patterned bright cotton starbursts

sewed with care, she 

dreams of stars, of

wandering through the darkened sky

when it was time to sleep at night, 

she told her daughter to leave

the blinds open, so

she could go to rest

still dreaming of stars 

Future Time

In a future time,

We could be friends. 

In the future I could know you

much better

In one future, I

See us as enemys,

fighting, 

yelling,

archnemisis

But in a whole new future, I  

See us, holding hands

In the snow 

Beneath the moon.

Friends at last. 

Enemys now,

Friends in the future.  

Okay, this was interesting to write. My 13th birthday is in a week from today, March 7th (judging day!) and my mental health has been, well, bad to say the least. So turning 13 soon, that's a very weird feeling for me. It's twisted and backwards, but I'm proud, and yeah. There's just a lot that I've been thinking about, for my own future, and so that's what I wrote about in this poem :D.

(not) a happy birthday

thirteen.

every little kid's dream,

every middle schooler's nightmare.

i don't know how i got here,

how i managed to stay.

sometimes i wish

that this wasn't true.

maybe i won't make it.

it's like a fever dream, 

like i'm not really here.

maybe i'll never wake up.

and sometimes

when i fall asleep

i don't expect to wake up the next morning.

i don't really want to see

what my future holds.

maybe i'll never have to. 

my mind is fractured, like it can't decide

whether to be happy 

or proud

or mad

or numb

or sad.

i don't know how i managed to get here.

how do other people make it this far

while staying so optimistic?

i'm not ready to grow up. 

i'm not ready 

to be

thirteen. 

We all pray

For a better future,

We all say

It'll only get better, for sure.

Little do we know

Of the storms, over the horizon, brewing

Little do we show

Of any true calling, or success-persuing.

And so we all are swept to sea

On haunted currents of time

And yet still not all of us can see

What the future will bring us is far from sublime. 

So... cue the magic-out-of-control vibes (hopefully?)

The future, uncertain,

Hovering in my crystal ball.

Spellbound, I watch.

Images flash past.

Moments of me.

Rapidly changing.

The future, uncertain.

Everchanging.

Fluid, like water.

One small change—

One word different.

One pencil out of place.

And then—suddenly, everything’s altered.

The future, uncertain.

I see my death.

But is it my death?

Or will everything change—again?

The future, uncertain.

Will it ever be constant, unmoving?

Can we choose our own destiny?

I believe I can.

Years later, I know the truth.

I tried. I died. The future didn’t budge. 

you can predict the future (now what?)

when every voice on TV, in my head, in the air

screams "why aren't you moving? do you even care?"

you can't wait

for later, later, too late.

the weight of the world is on your shoulders,

"but honey, you can do whatever you want."

the future's yours for the taking-

before it's going, going gone.

is it worth a sacrifice of the present, so candy-bright in this sheltered place

to martyr my teenage years trying to solve a problem i did not create?

all these words i push into a dark closet bursting at its seams with the oily, ugly, too-large thing-

bursting with guilt, guilt, guilt.

when i look toward the future which once seemed so bright

all i see is a swirling hurricane of our evil, our ignorance, our blight

and in the middle there is only that closet, that grimy thing tucked away behind excuses,

filled to the brim with every time i turned away from the future.

so: is it worth it? 

[whoops this got very dark! it's sort of like my very self-depricating thoughts when i'm so overhwelmed by all the horrible things in the world, often climate change but currently other stuff as well, and how guilty i feel for not always doing everything i can to stop them. anyway yay poetry contest!]

kali says "eeahh". yeah that's how i feel sometimes too...