Young Love with John and Raphael in The Poem Mix-up

"Today we're going to start our unit of poetry, I want to get a baseline of where everyone is, for the next hour I want you all to write a poem, then we'll all share. Your poem could be any format and can be about anything you want; some people find poetry a good way to express feelings that they can't otherwise put into words."

I looked around the room for inspiration, and my eyes landed on my best friend, John, we've been friends for years, but I've been feeling weird around him. He's my best friend, but I keep wondering: what if he could be more? Maybe the teacher was right, and I could write a poem to figure it out. I grabbed a piece of paper and a pencil and just started writing. Writing poems just felt natural, my subconscious flowed freely onto the paper, this is actually very relaxing.

You are my friend,

That much is true.

But what is this feeling

That I feel around you?

~

You always make me happy,

You always care.

And I know

That you'll always be there.

~

The way you act,

s so pure and true.

You never pretend

To be anyone but you.

~

You are my friend,

And I love you so.

But are there other feelings

Hidden deep down below?

~

The concept of us,

Always seems to climb.

Up in my mind

Time after time.

~

Too often it occurs,

Too often it stays.

To be a fleeting thought

Must be more than a phase.

~

The more I think,

The more it becomes clear.

I cannot deny

My feelings that lay here.

I looked down at what I wrote, and my heart started to race, is this really how I feel about John? I know I did this so I could figure out how I feel but now that I know I can't tell him what will he think of me? What if this destroys our friendship? I don't have anyone else. I can't share this with him, let alone the rest of the class I looked at the clock, how much time do I have left? I just started writing.

What do I write?

What do I do?

~

The clock

Goes tick,

The clock

Goes tock.

~

Time is passing.

~

And I don't' know

What to write.

And I don't know

What to do.

~

Time is passing.

And I have

Nothing.

~

Nothing to present.

Nothing to share.

~

All I have

Is this.

This stream

Of consciousness.

This stream

Of thought.

~

This poem,

Is of nothing.

This poem,

Is done.

I guess I'd be ok with the rest of the class hearing this, even though it's not very good.

"Ok, class it's time to share," I watched my classmates go up to the front of the room one by one reading their poems. None of them very good, they lacked inspiration, not like mine had any either. A few people, John included, started out with "roses are red, violets are blue." Eventually it was my turn. I grabbed the paper from my desk and nervously walked to the front of the room, my heart was thumping in my ears and started shaking at the thought of having to read in front of the class.

"Rapheal, I know that you have trouble reading out loud and your stutter," I hung my head as she pointed it out, "is bad for reading poems, would you like to go back to your seat and have me to read it for you?" I hate being singled out and treated differently for my disabilities, but I really didn't want to read aloud, so I gave her the page and she started reading as soon as I sat down.

"You are my friend,

That much is true.

But what is this feeling

That I feel around you?'

Panic set is as I realized that I handed her the wrong poem. My heart was pounding in my ears as I tried to muster up the courage to stop her, but then it was too late. I buried my head in my arms on my desk and toned tried to toon out the world, wishing that the ground would open up and swallow me whole, as I fell into such an anxiety spiral that I couldn't make out what everyone was saying, luckily the day was over after everyone read their poems.

As soon as the bell rang, I felt a hand on my elbow, it was John's. I couldn't look him in the eyes, I was terrified at what he might say.

"Was that poem about me?" he asked, his normally energetic voice was more of a gentle whisper. I simply nodded afraid to speak.

"I think I feel the same way about you, Raphael," he scratches the back of his neck, he sounded nervous but wore his ever-present big smile. "I was just worried about how you'd react..." he chuckled awkwardly, "It was really brave of you to show that poem, Raphael."

"I me-ent to sha-are thi-is one." I stuttered, handing him the other poem.

"Even if it was just a mix-up, I'm glad it happened, because I get to ask you out," his voice was regaining some of its usual robustness, "So Raphael, would you like to be my boyfriend?"

"Y-yea," I looked at him and saw the happiness in his big blue eyes, and he gingerly took my hand and things weren’t that scary.

If you like this story? I have others in this collection, and I have and several different series that I am working on, as well as a poetry collection. I keep a google doc housing summaries of each story and all of the installations that I've posted in an easy to navigate google doc: Click Here

The poems were written by me but are old and not my best work.

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~~Ben