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Photo illustration by Kate Ham, HSPVA, 2016

Photo illustration by Kate Ham, HSPVA, 2016

Connor Gryder, Carnegie Vanguard, 2016

I am the red tinted eyes of a student, trying his hardest. I am the red tinted eyes of a man struggling to escape his vice. No one believes you when you look up at them with red tinted eyes and say, “I tried.” They won’t believe you when you’ve choked on your own words, unable to breathe. Maybe you’ll drip words out under your own disbelief and false reasoning. Maybe, when I stop seeing colors, you’ll understand that your son’s vision has become blurred by red and tinted with the memory of people who used to be there for me. Maybe then someone on this planet will finally understand the colors seen through the filter as blood are easier to comprehend than the small “manageable” bit of chemistry, but everyone expects me to achieve. I’m sorry I can’t comprehend formulas through a single color of the rainbow.


“I’m sorry.” Let’s repeat that and break it down.

“I’m sorry”: words people seem to hear but are clearly unable to comprehend because I can’t comprehend how someone can say, “you’re not trying hard enough” when they’re clutching their phone with grades illuminated dimly in the color of red.

For failure.

Bleeding through the filter of failure vaguely resembling the same colors you slipped on you feigned memories on Instagram back when things had a meaning that you could see far easier than the eastwood filter you see in now illuminated in red. I am the only one who feels an emotional red brick wall smash against my face like a hurricane stinging and biting at me like a ravenous psychopath.

It’s a shame, really. It’s a shame that those words, “I know you can do it” are no longer encouraging but are now words that have lost their meaning to me because in some way success can’t be seen through this red foggy haze I’ve surrounded myself in. It’s a shame that the only reason I can’t see is because I don’t want to succeed. Maybe instead of success I just want to be understood. It’s a shame that at school I slave for hours only to be treated like I go on a luxury vacation until I go home, because apparently being only a number in a crowd of children my age stuck behind a fossilized desk that we wish could be seen in different colors. Maybe the student to my left in chemistry’s desk should be green, the color of success, yet I am in red. Dead in the brain with nothing to lose. I present to you an opportunity to take away all the shades of color you see in someone’s eyes and face and soul and have it exterminated, become the student who doesn’t understand who falters with their pen and can only see in a single shade because their nightmare is seeing ink on their paper, the color of red.



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This entry was posted on February 24, 2015 by and tagged , , .

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