Hello, Old Sorrow by Gabrielle (19, Pennsylvania)

Same old sorrow, 
I tire of you. 
You smell like stale bread; 
You’re brittle as war-torn porcelain dolls.
I wash you for days, 
But you linger on my sleeve like an oil stain. ​

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I’m on a ship that heads forward, 
But every new dawn you force me 
To raise a half-mast for 
What you should have been. 

You think that the same laws by which 
Trees fall and balloons rise 
Bow at your feet. 
You think that you’re larger than all the mountains.
You order thrushes to sing you good-morning
And bees to make you morning tea. 

But by now everyone else is on their own ship;
There’s no one left to take notice. 

I lie on the grass like a caterpillar, 
Grab clouds and weave a gray quilt 
Patched in sunlight. 
Like lint, I pick you off the dress of memory.
I carve out the rotten bits to apples, 
Scrub all pots and pans. 

Same old sorrow, 
We can no longer grow gardens of inter-being.
By now I’ve thought once and I’ve thought twice,
And a space opens and a table unfolds 
And sit down, please, I want to make peace with you.
Let’s take showers underneath waterfalls.

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Gabrielle is a 19-year old sophomore at the University of Pennsylvania studying creative writing and neuroscience. She's originally from New York, where she enjoyed taking advantage of its various writing opportunities, running reservoirs, and coffee shops! She has previously been a mentee at Girls Write Now and a performer at Girl Be Heard, and has also been published in Apparition LIt, Youth IMagination, and others.