I sat one day, amidst the world in my room, and glued together fragments from a magazine. This work became a masterpiece of my mind. I was drawn to paste the word loser near the top. It was one of those unforeseeable urges, the kind where you see something and you just know it's right. That word loser, in deep bold red, became the header for the torn pages and glue.
I do not choose this word loser because I see myself as such, but, perhaps I would, if indeed I were a mound of paper on the wall.
It may also be the reflection of my mind that stares back at you, screaming the word loser, in blood red. Maybe you are a loser because you do not understand.
I am hungry to be seen.
There is a boy, who glares at my shell, but I remain to be seen. I have yet to bleed the love I have for him. I have yet to rid myself of that.
He does not see between the lines. He does not see me scream, ever so quietly, his name into the dark.
There is a boy who looked at my work and said, "I don't understand the word in red."
It reads; I love you.
I am sitting on the wall, loser.
I love you.
Christopher Jeske, 20, is a Graphic Design student in London, Ontario, Canada. His email is: firstname.lastname@example.org