I Live

A brag poem, written for Poetry Boot Camp.

I’m not supposed to be here.

I’m only 15 and an average student.

Broken Home

Missing Father

Alcoholic mother

Working to pay my way.

Kids like me

don’t get scholarships over seas.

Until now.

I’m in the middle of nowhere,

Grimslov College in Sweden.

Which is somewhere really

When I think about it.

A holding place with 50 others

from around the world.

I’m in orientation

Waiting to be set free and

chomping at the bit.

The scent of Polo Cologne

And expensive cigars

Sends me over an edge

That I never recover.

I can close my eyes

And still drink deeply

The scent of a man.

Leather, Wood

Tobacco and moss

Mingled with sweat,

fills every waking pour

And I believe I’m finally alive.

I haven’t forgotten her

Half woman

Half child.

Sheepishly,

I remember him.

Eyes so blue they melt the soul

A countenance so kind

That girls swoon.

Yale Boy: A sheep among wolves.

He is wise beyond his years

He satisfies nothing immediate

And points me rather to life.

There will always be boys.

This year is a gift.

Live it.

The fact that I am only 15

And he is 18

May be aiding his wisdom.

Oh, what a year to live.

I live a year of museums and art

Of the pomp and circumstance of the Nobel Awards

And meeting the king

Even if I do accidentally call him short.

I live and swim in the Baltic Sea

Tumbling backwards down a hill

When I my host family strips nude

In front of me.

I live trying wine and Italian food

In Stockholm with friends

Only to throw it up while

Watching The French Lieutenants’ Woman

Because I’m too young to live so quickly.

Stranded

With no money or cell

I live hitchhiking

Back to my town.

Picked up by Iranians,

I live and lie like a rug

convincing them I’m from Australia

and not an American.

I live beneath the Northern lights

wearing only baby doll jammies and ski boots,

because at 16

on top of the tallest mountain I’ve ever seen,

that seemed the appropriate attire.

I live to face down a drunken lumberjack

who doesn’t yet know he’s in drag and tries to kiss me,

by kicking him in the shins with those same ski boots.

I live to see the boys

who weren’t supposed to be in our cabin

jump out of the second story window

like lemmings off a cliff when I run to be rescued.

I live to see Duffy

foolishly stay behind

and receive a black eye

defending my honor.

I live to come home again and chomp at the bit.

I live many years

Through careers

Through marriage

Through sickness and health.

I live in the middle of nowhere Oklahoma

which is somewhere really.

Raising a family

That’s almost grown.

I live and I wonder what’s next for me.

I remember the scent of a man,

wise beyond his years,

and it does nothing to satisfy the immediate.

It just points me to life.

 There will always be boys.

This life is a gift.

Live it.

This post written by Deana O’Hara for Redemption’s Heart. All rights reserved.