March 17th

by Amelia Calo, age 17
March 17th Amelia Calo is a 17-year-old writer from Westchester County. She has been attending Writopia Lab since her sophomore year of high school and began interning this spring in workshops. Amelia has experimented with a plethora of writing styles, including flash fiction, poetry, and playwriting. She has also participated in many Writopia Lab events, such as the Nuyorican Poets Cafe Poetry Night, Brooklyn Bridge Poetry Night, and the Writopia Worldwide Playwright Festival. This fall, Amelia will begin pursuing concurrent degrees in education and educational studies at York University in Toronto.

“The trickee has become the trickster / Running around with crushed hearts in hand”

The trickee has become the trickster

Running around with crushed hearts in hand

You can’t break a heart that is broken 

Playing games 

Foolish games

Power grows like vines 

Slips from my mouth on the third-month fourteenth day

Wishing I used force a few months before

But weak me

Little me

Never knew anything

I laugh in pity 

If only you knew how childish you were being

‘Cause this is fun

Words are shaken

Thoughts mistaken 

Stories are always told differently 

And they will turn you into a memory 

Learn to laugh in the face of that monster under your bed 

Learn to love your bare face

The taste of mistake on the lips

Dripped in the taste of regret 

You will never fully get over it 

Learn to show it who’s, boss

Don’t let it ever smile

‘Cause that’s when you know you’ve fully lost

People will call you weak 

And you will stare them in the face,

You will think have they even brushed their teeth that day

Wonder if their hands are in fists

Turning white losing blood as you stare them in the eyes

You notice the scar above their eye

Realize they too have once lost a fight

More questions appear in your head

Why this?

Why now?

How is this supposed to end?

Remember we were all little kids once

Blowing Dandelions fluff off stems

But Danny went off and was a liar

Big lies escape from the smallest mouths

And the biggest lies sting your skin like lemon juice

And you finally realize you might never get over it 

But that doesn’t stop you from trying

And more lies slip from mouths

Whispers whirl around your head, the words repeat and repeat again and again

And you’re stuck sinking in your thoughts

Is this the end?

And if it is the end

Did I do enough?


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