Poems by: Zachary Irvin

BY: ZACHARY IRVIN | HE/HIM | AGE 16

Every weekday after class

I envy his passion but he envies my success

He can leave his bottlers on people ' s doorsteps, but I, I know how to be successful.

Our mom knew what it meant to push through, so we should too. Well, one of us does.

My Positive feelings help me push through. Leatherback to soft. They give no meaning to knowledge, they are the meaning of knowledge. I wouldn ’t be here without them.

Sometimes I cry. The feeling of not being able to connect with the boy and understand him. But without failure, he comes in every afternoon. I take a look at him, I try to test his emotions and intelligence. I see where he comes from. I wish he wrote his thoughts into a volume. I have lots of pages with person thoughts. Being able to take his thoughts apart would help him and me.

“Good Book, Straight from the source, your source… ” “ our source. ” That boy is sharp. He knows much. He should write sometime. Give a gift of meaning to this paper.

He walks out. He could have told his life story and the time I had with him would still have felt so short.

I wish he stayed for longer. I wish I understood him.

BY: ZACHARY IRVIN | HE/HIM | AGE 16

Every other day

He tries his best.

I really appreciate his effort.

His hair, his thought process. Nothing changes.

He tries his best. That’ s ok. I do what I can. Talking him through himself till he feels of worth.

His tricks and jokes don ’t phase me. But I pretend they do. I try my best to travel the world, helping everyone I can. Not The World. But my world. These people mean as much as what I learn from them. He tries his best.

The librarian stares at the boy with a large array of intentions. Flying around at high speed he gives a new meaning to no meaning. I wish I could be like him.

I admire the librarian. But I admire the boy even more. Even if they are wrong.

He tries his best.