One/Empty/Bottle Poem by Keith Michael

We saw a young fair haired boy in the corner of the room, far off, not intervening with anyone. all we notice aside from his suspenders and side parted hair, which makes him stand out enough, is the bottle he is holding. two hands grasped tightly around it as if it was glued to his hand, and if he went to scratch his hair it would follow. we walk over and he sees us coming and starts to get fidgety. scuffing his shoes on the floor, bouncing his left foot up and down. the light grows dimmer while we move away from the light in the center of the room over to the northwest side where he sees, coming face to face we finally see the sweat coming from his perfectly styled hair and how uncomfortable he is with our intrusion on his space. silence, now that we walked over i don't know what to say. finally my friend says, 'whats in the bottle? ' no response, and almost a sense of not hearing what we had said. 'Well! ' says my friend, and the boy looks up, an empty gaze perched on his ghostly face, almost as if he was frozen in time…and again, nothing. before we turn to leave, we hear a mumble, a little softer than a whisper. 'What? ' i said, as we turn around. He replies, 'Emotions. I bottle them up, and don't know why.' and furthermore he says, 'I am just looking for a place to release them, safely, without harming anyone.' this struck me. It was something I always held close and remember to never hold my feelings in, to discuss problems and solution. This was a young boy about my age who was dealing with problems beyond him, beyond us! we never saw each other again, but i always hoped i returned to that room, and gazed into that corner, and saw a broken bottle, knowing immediately what it signified.