First Steps
by Matthew Molina
From crawling to walking across a surface of cold wooden symmetrical planks
my eyes seem to follow but never grasp.
Stretching across a land divided by water and sand.
Chasing seagulls that scatter like roaches with the first sight of light.
Every step echos the screeching creaks from boards below
where the shadows are kept hidden from blinding
flashes of golden white, a blurry bright source of glaring lights
that harshly caress my eyesight.
Listening to waves wash away the sound of rattled coins
and the laughter and chattering of crowds that breathe in
luck-filled chances taken through the night.
From walking to sprinting across an endless trail
of broken, aged, wooden planks.
An agonizing run from the gulls too afraid to fly in the sky,
from the bitter cries of lies pecking away my pride until
my knees drop on the ground. Digging deep
down into the boards that fill my hands with splinters
blood that drips down my elbow. Tears leave my eyes like
the gulls that left the ground for grey gloomy skies.
Traumatized nervous mind, sweating, trembling
palms tightly grasp the arms of another until their sleeves dampen.
my eyes seem to follow but never grasp.
Stretching across a land divided by water and sand.
Chasing seagulls that scatter like roaches with the first sight of light.
Every step echos the screeching creaks from boards below
where the shadows are kept hidden from blinding
flashes of golden white, a blurry bright source of glaring lights
that harshly caress my eyesight.
Listening to waves wash away the sound of rattled coins
and the laughter and chattering of crowds that breathe in
luck-filled chances taken through the night.
From walking to sprinting across an endless trail
of broken, aged, wooden planks.
An agonizing run from the gulls too afraid to fly in the sky,
from the bitter cries of lies pecking away my pride until
my knees drop on the ground. Digging deep
down into the boards that fill my hands with splinters
blood that drips down my elbow. Tears leave my eyes like
the gulls that left the ground for grey gloomy skies.
Traumatized nervous mind, sweating, trembling
palms tightly grasp the arms of another until their sleeves dampen.
I’m Matt. I was born in Atlantic City, New Jersey. I lived all over the place until my family decided to settle down in Pico Rivera, California. This is where I attended and graduated from El Rancho High School. As a student at PCC the sense of doubt has ran throughout my mind, convincing myself of not being good enough to pass my classes. But after experiencing each passing semester, I feel I've grown tremendously inside and outside the classroom. My lifelong goal is to become a psychiatric nurse. I aspire to understand and to help people who aren't capable of helping themselves. As an individual I'm a very open person, always up for a challenge and am encouraged to take life-changing opportunities. I'll say I see my academic life as part of my personal life; it isn't something separate, but I've learned that it's a part of me now and it will continue to help me grow. Throughout the years I've come to understand that I have an openly active imagination that has been silent. I've learned that I have a passion for writing mixed with a love for art that can express my silent mind. When creating pieces of work, I'm eager to let out my thoughts and feelings to share with others. It's my format of speaking for myself without necessarily talking out loud.
