Passion

My palms sweat

jarring promises, fingertips hot.

There are no gentle corners.

 

There is an electric urgency

that stretches from my throat

to my heart.

I live heavily,

I used to grind together

bright flowers, fragrant leaves

but they only left brown stains

 

on burning pavement.

I am leaking contradictions

that send steam rising off asphalt.

Don’t tell me to hide the cracks

where weeds grow.

I have nurtured my insanity,

 

let it crawl through my veins.

Let it pump my heart full of passion

that sings in my blood

now. This is not healthy,

but I’d be lying if I said

I didn’t love the way I think.

I know how to let my nature tug

until it pulls me to the brink.

 

poem by Navya Dasari, age 16

2014 Gold Key, Silver Medal

BASIS Scottsdale, Scottsdale

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