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This article is written by a student writer from the Her Campus at MSU chapter.

I’m not able to sing underwater

the way the sea stars do

next to empty champagne bottles,

but I hear their songs in the distance – 

like sunsets through tinted windows – 

that knock on the doors of my skull,

stopping sundrops with blue umbrellas.

If we can’t stay 

within the birds and formations

and we try painting tulip petals before they bloom,

how could we ever echo

the ring of the train’s silent track,

coloring in the lines of a dirt-road tune?

Should the subtle chemicals laced

in common chord progressions

poison the trees to lose their branches,

eat the clouds up as cotton candy,

and pray that the briefcase without its latches

holds inside, the melodies of the many.

Because as traffic cones fall

and railway cars halt

and dissonant weeds are pulled from the ground,

we can feel the stop and go

of a self-mummified world

through every creature’s internal sound.

Katie is a double major in Journalism and Astrophysics at Michigan State and the Senior Editor for the HCMSU chapter. She is an avid reader and loves writing, especially poetry. When she isn't writing or learning about space, she loves to listen to music and scrapbook. To see some of her recent works, visit her blog: katietswritingcorner.wordpress.com