05/05/2012 12:22 pm ET

TEEN POETRY: 'Running Home'

This is a regular column featuring original poetry and fiction by and for teens, provided by Figment.com, an online community writing site for young people.

By Jake Walters, hoping to get a home run someday

I never was the hitting type
But this season I practiced more then ever
A ball over the fence
Is any hitter's dream

It's time for the first game of the season

The leather gloves fill the air with a strange aroma
Wood is cracking as it hits a hard ball for practice
Dirt is in my eyes and they water up
My hands are soiled and dry

I glance around and take some swings
And I feel the tension rising
I pull my arm above my head
Wince, then stretch

The cold of Autumn
Gives me goosebumps and the shivers
My warm hands rub my skin
It isn't very effective

I forgot my gloves
And my breath is clearly seen
But the dirt of the field is satisfying
When it hits me and warms me up

Salt and butter is the new smell
My family bought popcorn
The concession stand opened up
That means only one thing...



I am breathing heavily
I am extremely nervous
I am next up to bat
I'm not ready yet

Two outs
Bottom of the ninth
No one on base
Tied up

I grab my helmet
And step up to the plate
The pitcher looks at me,
Then the catcher

He is concentrating where he will pitch
And what pitch he will throw
The pitcher pulls his glove in
And throws the ball

I swing and miss
"Steeeeriiike one!" yells the ump
The pitcher repeats
So do I

"Steeeeriike two" shouts the ump
His loud voice makes me mad
I make sure to hit the ball this time
I step out of the batter's box to take a breather

Back in the box and ready to go
I pull my bat up to my shoulders
The pitch is fired in
And I swing with all my might

As I swung I closed my eyes
The only thing I heard was a loud ping
My eyes excitedly burst open
The bat drops and my feet thrust dust and dirt

I round first base
The ball is still sailing
Second base
I am sprinting as fast as possible

So fast like my butt's on fire
I squint my eyes and and focus
Third base and my coach tells me to slow down
I pretend as if I didn't hear, smiling

Had I glanced at the outfielders climb the fence
I understand why Coach is laughing now
And I hit my forehead with my palm
I am thinking I should have jogged

It would have made it feel much cooler.