Sara Holbrook

Sara Holbrook is a graduate of Mount Union College in Alliance, Ohio where she received a degree in English. She has done some part-time teaching, but mostly she has made a living writing. Before she became a full time poet, she worked in the area of public relations in the fields of law, drug prevention and public housing. She is the author of "Nothing’s the End of the World," and many other books.

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Feelings Make Me Real
by Sara Holbrook

You are not the boss of me
and what I feel inside.
Please don't say,
"let's see a smile,"
or tell me not to cry.
I am not too sensitive.
You think my inside's steel?
You can't tell me how to be,
feelings make me real.

I Hate My Body
by Sara Holbrook

I hate my body,
I'm not going out.
I'll stay in this room
with my mouth in a pout
if I feel like it. I couldn't
care what you say.
It's embarrasing
to look this way.

My legs are too long.
My knees are like lumps.
My neck is too thin.
My face has these bumps.

My waist is too thick.
My eyelids are limp.
My nose is too big.
I walk like a chimp.

I won't go to school,
I'm beyond repair.
And what's even worse,
I have hopeless hair.

If I stay at home
then no one can tell.
Why couldn't I be
like everyone else?

The Loneliest
by Sara Holbrook

I'm not going steady.
I'm nobody's best friend.
I guess I'm 'bout the loneliest
that anybody's been.

There's no one waiting at the door
at three for me to meet,
and if I'm late for lunch,
no one's saving me a seat.

My love life's not the topic
of hot homeroom conversation,
like some old empty locker,
no one wants my combination.

This school's made up of partners,
two halves to every whole,
'cept me, left on the outside
like that clankin' old flagpole.

by Sara Holbrook

No use acting nice to me
when I'm stuck in a pout.
I can't let your niceness in
until my mad wears out.


by Sara Holbrook

You can't hold me
angry, angry,
When I'm angry
angry, angry.
There's no comfort
in your touching when I'm mad.

If you talk to me, I'll fight you.
If you reach for me, I'll bite you,
'cause I'm angry,
'cause I'm angry,
'cause I'm mad.

Though at first it wasn't you,
I was mad, but not at you,
till you held me,
or you tried,
to push my mad aside.
I'm a raging storm inside.
You can't hold me
and you tried.
Now I'm angry 'cause you tried.

Now I'm angry with an anger
you can't hold and I can't hide,
angry, angry
angry, angry.
Can't control me,
angry, angry.
You can't hold me,
angry, angry.
So don't try.

by Sara Holbrook

I'd rather starve myself
or pay a million dollar fine,
or choose a lengthy sentence
of the solitary kind.
I'd stay grounded from T.V.
for I don't care how long,
if I only had a choice.
I hate to say I'm wrong.

If I had a place to crawl,
I'd never come back out.
Then you wouldn't have to lecture
and I wouldn't have to shout.

I'd rather hide for life in dark
than face you in the light.
What's worse than being wrong is
...maybe you were right.

Playing Games
by Sara Holbrook

You bet.
I got him back.
Just as bad--and more.
How could I just leave him?
Too bad.
I couldn't score
while I was getting even.

My Way is Better
by Sara Holbrook

Your way's
I guess you could say.
But my way is better.

I won't whine or complain
and you won't get blamed
when we fail,
'cause my way is better.

I'm too old to say, "no,"
in a loud stomping show,
'course a small
"told you so,"
might escape if I go, so
But my way is better.

Bad Joke
by Sara Holbrook

Glasses and braces?
Is this some bad joke?
A conspiracy
so I look like a dope?
Plastic bug eyes
and tinsel buck teeth.
What'd I do
to deserve this grief?

Why can't I feel normal?
Why can't I feel good?
I'm hopeless and helpless
and misunderstood.
I can't stand this age,
and its just my luck,
I'll turn out to be bald
when I finally grow up.

by Sara Holbrook

I thought they had
something I lacked,
until I learned
winners fight back.

It isn't that
they never lose,
don't fall apart
or take abuse.

The trick is, simply
every round,
when they get hit
winners don't stay down.

by Sara Holbrook

If misery loves company,
then I could use a crowd --
a stadium of miserables
crying with me...Loud!

Ten thousand people blubbering,
their twenty thousand eyes
swelled in tearful sympathy,
a woeful, wailing symphony,
audible a mile.
I would smile.