creativity · culture · life · poetry · writing

Smoking Pit

Cigarette butts
no longer linger
concrete, but
I swear the cloud
of smoke lingers,
the sweat of adolescent
anxiety – the suffocating
pressure to comply –

Names escape,
but I remember
smugness and
rivalry, and
the spine-crawling fear
of confrontation,
and indisputable
in my mind
are the scars
of being so alone.

(Written for Twenty Four’s 50 word Thursday prompt.  Image supplied by Deb Whittam.)

15 thoughts on “Smoking Pit

  1. I have few good memories of high school, but it was the first time I was noticed as the creative type. I was even invited to attend a week-end, drawing workshop when I was fourteen. But even that was marred by tornado winds hitting the university residence while I was there. Interesting to hear that you were a teacher. I was also, but part-time. Still it gave me a decent pension for my retired years.

    Liked by 1 person

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