Sick at heart,

I took a walk through the spring

sunshine in your neighborhood.

The trees lined my path,

giving and giving,

with leaves that were a living green,

green that filled my blood

and only became more alive

when contrasted with the bluest sky

and the reddest bushes.

I inadvertently caught my hand

on the tiny spider's web and

watched him play on my palm.

I wanted to stack the snowball flowers

into a fortress to protect me from

coming back.

When hit by the sprinklers and the sun,

the puddles rippled into a million sparkles,

and I was rich,

for I had diamonds on my soles.



I looked down the rectangle hall with

the rectangle lights and the rectangle lockers

and the forced square tiles;

my eyes soon adjusted to the darkness.



And that's when I decided to make my own school.

Spiral, with a sunroof and

thousands of windows

so you can remember the

color of your hair in the sun.

A marble fountain in

the lunch room

with snowball flowers

all around

to remind you

that there's more to life

than rectangles,

profanity, and apathy;



to remind you

that it doesn't matter who is valedictorian

or can bench press the most

because there are diamonds to drink:

diamonds on your sole and in your soul and

all around.