It's a slippery slope, like wax on a ballroom floor, or like the thick ice that forms over a lake durning the winter time. If you're not careful, you'll slip, and as if the world had no friction, you'll just keep sliding. Sometimes there's a branch that will catch you by chance, and set you back on solid ground. But you can't keep depending on flimsy and fickle branches to save you.
Instead, you get a grip. Dig your fingers into the slime that continues to propel you into an endless loop of gliding along its surface, until you get ahold of something, anything that stills you. Something deep beneath the layers and layers of slippery slime, something that's solid.
You found what keeps you grounded. Now don't let go, for that could be a fatal mistake.
YOU ARE READING
Unprofessional Poems
PoetryJust poems that were written by a teenager who does really know what she's doing. Please read. I promise they're not terrible- just unprofessional, and sometimes kind of angsty.
