The world is a cruel and dangerous place. Those older and supposedly wiser than me have told me it’s always been this way. I wonder if they’re just ignorant to the dark undercurrents or if I am really just the young kid with no knowledge of the way things work.

I think the worst part is the inability to do anything about the horrors that flash on the television and in my social media feed. Reposting to my sub 500 followers causes no change to those who actually need it.

But we do what we can, or at least those who care do. It’s the little things they say. I wonder if it’s a ploy to make us okay with the constantly spiraling world. If we think we’re helping do we care if the wold burns with us?

Everyone knows the telltale sound of leaves rustling on the ground. Kicked and piled up by small children. Many have fond memories of jumping into piles or throwing them at their friends. But the sound of leaves means something different to me. To me, it means that fall has arrived.

It’s been creeping up on us like a sinking feeling we don’t want to face. We reminisce in the beauties of the oranges and reds all while bundling up to brace the incoming cold.

The world hunches to face the cold and nature celebrates around us. It shakes its burden of leaves upon our feet and tells us it’s ours to deal with now.

Many embrace the change with open hearts and claim the simple joys of pumpkins and holidays. Others dismiss the season and claim it is only a second winter. Either way the leaves crawl their way into our home and into our hearts. Their image is one of fondness and happiness no matter your feeling on fall.

I hope to embrace this change even as I dismay over the loss of the greens and brightness that summer brings. As with fall brings change, and change is something I am ready for. If only I can shed my burdens like the trees.

The golden child,

The rule follower,

The role model.

Perfect grades,

Impeccable fashion,

Never a toe out of line.

But what if,

There’s more to life,

Than doing everything right.

A slip,

A mistake,

What if it’s a benefit?

What if perfection,

Or the goal of it,

Is a curse and not a blessing.

Change your career,

Say something stupid,

Toe the line.

Because only in failure do you learn,

Or so I’m told.

My brain won’t let me do it.

Maybe one day,

One day I’ll let lose,

Run free of the rules I’ve set for myself.

But not today,

Today I hide in my false perfection,

Aching to be someone else.

I incline my head,

the breeze tickling my throat.

My fingers dance across the park bench,

catching on brambles in the wood.

I listen to the whisper and whine,

The screams and shouts of the City.

There are people dancing and singing.

The moon kissing their shoulders,

shining it’s gratitude.

The buildings twinkle in the night,

as if in response.

A dog barks across the street,

his tail wags and twirls beneath his feet.

I close my eyes,

the sounds washing over me as a wave.

The City is nothing but loud and boisterous,

but to me the sound calms.

The quiet of the City is nothing at all.

Rather the quiet of the City is a symphony,

a symphony of lives coming together,

each a different key.