I Believe
by Sarah Meira Hoberman
I
Believe
Firmly
In tear-streaked
Happy Endings
In the soul of Mother Earth
And in her children.
And I believe
That good things happen
To those who sit in the sunshine
And sing their hearts out
Without acoustic guitars.
And I believe,
Yes,
I believe in Walt Whitman
Make fun if you will.
I believe in not caring
Who makes fun
And in caring deeply.
I believe in caring
For anyone who needs a helping hand
That is true chivalry,
Not who holds the door
For whom.
I believe in grammar
And disjointed trains
Of thought.
I believe
In Attention Deficit
Disorder.
I believe in chaos
And myself
And rebellion against rebellion
Why are you laughing?
I,
I believe in math teachers
And science teachers
History teachers
Music and psychology teachers
Art teachers
I believe in English teachers
The Great Gatsby
And Huckleberry Finn
I believe in Jim.
I believe
That it's okay to start a poem
With the words
"I believe"
You're laughing again.
But hey,
You can't argue
With what I say I believe
(My mother cuts down that argument
In ten seconds flat
In ninth-grade bible,
She tells me in triumph.)
I believe in my mother
Does that make me not
Seventeen?
I believe in seventeen
And in Seventeen
And in not being snide:
Stop laughing
I didn't say I read it!
I believe
In losing track
Of the original train of thought
And I believe in writing
Poetry at midnight,
The weak light falling
On purple psychedelic
Mushroom pajama pants;
I believe in my pants.
I believe in the sixties
And the seventies
And the fifties
And the nineties.
I believe in Norman Rockwell
Stan Rodgers
The Beatles
Peter, Paul and Mary.
I believe
In my sister's friend Mary
A beautiful little girl
With cerebral palsy:
I believe in a life
In which Mary walks her walker
Through the halls
Of our high school
Pulling straight A's
In honors math.
I believe in school
And in desks
And in alphabetical order
Starting with Q.
I believe that wings
Are something every human being has
Just nobody knows how to use them.
But listen—I believe
That the best thing you can do for
Yourself
Is believe;
Now will you please stop laughing?
I'm making a point!
Good-Bye, Dennis
by Gina M. Antonacci
For some life lasts a short while,
but the memories it holds last forever.
—Laura Swenson
The sound of a soft pink rose hitting the coffin resounds in my head. The gray sky begins to release its own tears. I stand alone, looking down with tear-filled eyes. The only other sound is a lonely crow in a tree, looking for shelter from the rain. I hear my mother softly calling, "Gina, come in out of the rain." I say, "Good-bye, Dennis. I'll miss you." These are the last words between me and my brother.
I had lost my brother, but more than that, my "self" became a pile of shattered glass, and I was frightened these pieces would never be put together again. I could no longer find where I left my soul, or my faith. I knew that my being was somewhere on a dirt road, way off the highway of my mind, and I needed to find it to put myself back together.
Time passed and that gaping hole was still only filled with anger and fear. I was frightened that that girl, so funny and happy, might never be found again.
I realized that those I had surrounded myself with were no longer my friends. They had pushed me aside; they made me feel as though my problems were small. They treated Dennis's death as if he had been a pet who died. More and more anger built inside me, and I began to isolate myself. I felt as though I had no friends, and worst of all, I was completely depressed with the person I had become. Just like my brother, I hated myself.
Sitting alone in my room at night, I did a little homework before falling asleep, telling myself that if I fell asleep I could forget him for one minute. Maybe, just maybe, when I woke up, I would be wherever he was. One night, I was overwhelmed by sadness and began to cry and cry.
Then, almost as if in a dream, my tears stopped. I couldn't figure out why or how, but at that moment I began to laugh and laugh and laugh. Memories of my big brother—taking me for walks, working on art projects with me, tickling me when I woke up in the morning, blowing bubbles together on the front porch—all came back. In that instant, I knew he was okay, and more than that, I knew I was going to be okay.
I decided that maybe somewhere, somehow, someone was telling me to stop crying and get on with my life. I also realized there are people out there just like me who can put on a front for the world, even though deep down they are suffering. That night I asked my mother if I could go to a different school, and we agreed I needed to start my new "self."
The wounds from my brother's death didn't heal like normal ones. I know there will always be that scar on my heart, because, yes, it was unfair that he died, and yes, it is okay for me to be sad.
The problem was that when I was sad all the time, I began to neglect my friends and family. Now I know we all suffer, though sometimes unknown to others. I learned that I needed not only to see myself in this world, but also to see everyone else.
Now my friends always tell me that I am a great listener. When they have problems, they are never afraid to talk to me. I do not always fully understand what they are feeling, but somewhere inside, I remember what it was like to be so unhappy. My brother's inability to communicate in his own life led to his downfall. I never want anyone to feel the way I felt, or he felt: alone, unloved and frightened. I want everyone to realize that none of us is alone; the only way to be alone is to force the rest of the world away.
Even though my brother passed away, and for a long time I was unhappy, somehow in his death I found my own key to happiness. I solve my problems by talking about them instead of keeping them pent up inside. Because of my loss, I learned that I value my friends and family more than is imaginable, and I tell everyone around me that I love them all the time. I am not afraid to hug a grieving person, even if I do not know him or her.
I am a changed person because of what happened. Everyone has pain, but more than that, everyone has value and is loved by someone. Because of my angel, my brother, I am able to find the good in every person.
¬2003. All rights reserved. Reprinted from Teen Ink: What Matters edited by Stephanie and John Meyer, Peggy Veljkovic . No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the written permission of the publisher. Publisher: Health Communications, Inc., 3201 SW 15th Street, Deerfield Beach, FL 33442. |
