Hawai'i Preparatory Academy

    65-1692 Kohala Mountain Road

    Kamuela, Hawaii, 96743

    Copyright 2018

    Monopoly

    May 7, 2018

    I’ve always been good at playing games.  

    It all started with Monopoly.  

    I collected properties faster than a charmer

    who’s perfected the art of hoarding torn-up hearts

    and putting them on display

    as if to say,

    “Look at me… I broke two more since yesterday”.  

    Now that’s not to say I haven’t had my fair share of losses…

    I’ve been buried so deep under a fictitious flame I’ve resorted to prayer…

    and I’m not even religious.

    We’ve all been guilty at one time or another,

    for being caught

    caring too fiercely for things we should not,

    and by the time we realize that the sky

    is in fact the limit,

    the wings we constructed

    from our torn up heartstrings decide that the ground is a more desirable collide

    as the destination for our glorified joyride.  

    I don’t know if anyone ever told you

    but cloud nine was never meant to hold anyone up in the night sky

    long enough for our signs to align with another’s.  

    And maybe that’s why all the star-crossed lovers

    I’ve ever met

    never seem to survive the nosedive

    back down to the ground.  

    I’ve met more than a few people who keep a playground

    where their hearts should be.  

    All the broken and rusted parts

    hidden under a new layer of new paint,

    because according to our society,

    anything with a little variety is with taint.  

    Careful!  

    Watch out for that wet paint!  

    Don’t you see the lines that the masses are boxing you into?  

    Being different is your crime

    and all the judgement you’ve faced

    just sentenced you to a life behind bars…

    it’s as if they couldn’t tell just how far back in your mind you’ve been sitting,

    as if the greatest prison known to man

    isn’t hidden inside your head.  

    As if this mind-made lockup isn’t casting shade

    over the part of yourself

    that used to harbor memories of the days when summertime meant holding a buttercup under your chin.  

    Has been are the days when flowers were a symbol of fascination,

    at our age,

    their silence shouts apologies

    for the lovers who have discovered that an unrequited love

    isn’t something you recover from.  

    I’ve never been good at playing games…

    I guess I’ve only got myself to blame.

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