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he can see the music
Submitted by artisticthoughts on Thu, 03/28/2013 - 10:15pmhe was completely alone and nobody could change that
because he wanted things that way, wanted
his footsteps to echo in empty hallways so that he could
listen to the music that they made, that nobody
ever seemed to stop for a moment to hear.
his life was a whispering wind in the leaves of the tree of life
and he loved to hear the music around him, loved the sounds
of the excited chatter of the girls that made him think of a
chorus of chipmunks skittering through tall grass
that swayed in the wind with a small huff of air,
blown from the lips of a small boy reading a book
with his body sprawled out in the grass, oblivious
to the green stains of the grass on his knees.
winter was the time that he could see the music the most
because the snow fell so softly and it was that silence
that made his heart swell with an emotion close to love,
but not quite,
it was more of a happiness and a fondness that he refused
to show the world because he had a bad boy image to keep up
with his ripped black jeans and chains and earings and darkened eyes
and cigarettes held between two fingers as he exhales the smoke
in grey clouds that make him think of rainy days when the pitter patter
of the rain drops lull him to sleep on textbooks that he wasn't reading
anyway.
they used to worship here
Submitted by artisticthoughts on Mon, 02/11/2013 - 8:01pm
they used to worship here.
hands raised high and voices, voices shouting out
as they praised their King and whispers, whispers of secrets
that they quietly imparted into the ears of the silent priests
who were standing in the front and leading, leading these lost people
home.
they used to worship here.
and then it crumbled away.
the stone became dust and the once glorified space became
empty, no more people singing and no more whispers threading
through these old walls that stand only by pure willpower
because they want to keep holding the secrets that they overhead
and the songs that vibrated into their very core so that maybe
someday, maybe somewhere there is someone who thinks a little more
than just something about these old walls and their stories, maybe there
is a person who will come and push them back into place -
restore the old stone and bring back the silent priests and the singing people.
they used to worship here.
and maybe, maybe someday, they will again.
a fragile future relying on the past
Submitted by artisticthoughts on Thu, 01/24/2013 - 9:49pmtruth?
i
am
terrified
the future, my future is balencing on the very fine tip
of a very thin peak and it might just fall at any moment,
shatter on the ground that i can't see from up here
and that scares me.
i don't like not knowing where i'm going or
what i'm doing with my life,
i don't like looking back at the memories and wondering
how many of them are going to damn me, how many
will ruin everything that i am working for?
because i don't have a clean past, i don't have
that innocence that you have
as we both head off to college in only 7 months time
in order to discover ourselves and i hope you discover something
unique and beautiful and i hope that i, hope that i
discover that i am something more than what my past has made
me because i don't want it to define me,
i don't want the scars to keep me from my dreams.
my future is unstable, it is only moments from falling
and that scares me, but i know that at least i have a future
so i can hold on and hope that it won't be destroyed by the past.
i valued our friendship & i miss you
Submitted by artisticthoughts on Sat, 01/12/2013 - 8:01pmbefore
we talked about boys
(a certain five in a certain band)
and we discussed the latest doctor who, texted about
sherlock on bbc and obessed over ed sheeran.
we went to a concert together and shared a hotel room
with your mom and sister, we screamed together with the other girls
and you held my hand to make me feel safe when i felt scared
surrounded by all of the other people swarming around, gave me water
so that i could calm down and we sat together and watched as
the five boys we talked about so much sang and we sang along.
we would read and compare notes in english class
and we would talk about fanfiction that we had read, we would
reccomend stories and books and we would hang out sometimes.
once, you played the ukelele while i sang along
(you were playing Up All Night by that band we saw together
and i said that i thought maybe i would take up smoking
because zayn's voice is pretty and he smokes and you laughed.)
we hung out before school and talked about class and teachers
and i trusted you and we would reblog each other on tumblr and tweet each other
on twitter, sometimes tweeting one direction
(you tweeted liam on my birthday and asked him to say happy birthday to me)
we were going to be friends in college and i was going to play with your kids somed
darling, give me your heart
Submitted by artisticthoughts on Tue, 01/08/2013 - 10:30pmdarling, come here and let me write you into the story
that is my life,
let me write you into the painful bits and the laughter, give me
your love so that i can spill out my heart
and love you back so much that i can’t sleep anymore, give me
all of your dreams so that i can whisper in your ear all of
mine and tell you that yours will all come true, give me
the chances that you missed and the ones you took
so that i can add myself to the list of chances taken
and so i can wake you up, late at night, so we can go
take some chances you thought you missed.
baby, let me give you my heart and let me take yours,
trust me with everything you have ever desired
and let me stay up all night by your side so that we can
wake up in the morning and think about how much
we love each other and how glad we are that we are
so very alive
and so very much in love with
each other.
and i love you, but you don't know (caution: mild swearing)
Submitted by artisticthoughts on Sun, 01/06/2013 - 7:06pmi wonder if you would be mad if i shot you with
cupid's arrow because i just love you so fucking much and i know that
you would never ever in a million years love me that much
back and you would never ever hold my hand or kiss my lips, you would
never ever look me in the eyes and bring me close with your arms
wrapped around my waist to show me that you care when i want to cry
because you will never know what i'm like when i'm sad and you will never
be close enough to me to care about me and to pick up on the signs.
we spend our time together laughing and making jokes, we talk
about practice and the team and spanish class,
but we never talk about the things i want to talk about, we never
speak about the fact that i fucking love you because you don't know
that i am laying on the floor with my heart cut wide open,
waiting for you to pour your love right back into it and fill in the empty spaces
i have reserved just for you.
so i wonder if you can see that i am waiting for you
or, maybe, you can see and you don't want to love me back or don't know how.
baby, if you don't know how then i would be more than happy to teach you
and if you don't love me back that is okay too because i am used to loving
too much and not being loved back, i am used to people not caring about me
in the ways that i wish they would, and so i would
it was too early for them. (dedicated to the children in the Connecticut shooting 12/14/2012 RIP)
Submitted by artisticthoughts on Fri, 12/14/2012 - 11:31pmi.
his big brother came home from college last night
and promised him that they would play soccer together
when he got home from school that day,
so when he hugged him goodbye and told him
"I love you",
he had something to look forward to.
he hid underneath the table when the big scary man
with his scary gun turned towards him and the sound
was so very loud and so very scary and he just wanted
his big brother to come and save him, to come and get him
so they could play soccer together when he got home from school.
he never got to go home, he never got to play soccer
with his big brother who was at home waiting for him.
ii.
she told her mother that she wanted to be a nurse someday
as they sat down for breakfast that morning,
she said it was because she wanted to help people
like her grammy did and it made her mother smile.
she didn't even have time to react,
the gun was pointed at her before she could even scream
and when the shot rung out through the room
she could only hear the others around her as she fell to the ground.
she would never be a nurse someday, she never would get to
save people like her grammy d
its too soon for you
Submitted by artisticthoughts on Thu, 12/06/2012 - 9:37pmthey say that age doesn't matter in death and they were right
because you are only two years old and yet death is sneaking up on you,
slipping into your room late at night when the monsters plague your dreams
and make you wake up suddenly, fear making your little two year old limbs
tremble as you cry out for your mother and your father;
"mommy, daddy!"
but those monsters are not the ones you should be fearing,
the one you should fear is hiding in your blood and your bones
and you can't see it as it rips you apart from the inside out,
making your parents want to cry out to God and plead for Him to save
their little baby girl with only two years of experience who is so close
to slipping away because of the cancer that plagues you and eats at your
two year old body, two years of no experience yet
so close to being taken away.
and i pray that someone can come and take away all of the monsters,
hiding in your dreams and hiding in your little body that is already
so very frail and fragile
because, you, more than anyone in this world
deserve to grow big and strong and fight those monsters and live a life
with many more cakes because two is not enough to know
which one is your favorite.
and i resent you for holding on to our friendship [because i miss you]
Submitted by artisticthoughts on Sat, 11/10/2012 - 10:36pmin the months before graduation i tried my hardest to get away from you
and to make our friendship fade away into the summer, make it become
a distant memory, like smoke, that we would
look back on when we were old and smile at the memories
that were faded just enough so we weren't friends anymore, but appreciated
the existance of the other and the remaints of the memories we shared.
you wouldn't let me let our friendship slip away, instead you
held on tighter in those months before graduation (and after)
when you would make sure that i didn't distance myself from you
during the summer before you left, making sure that
we talked to each other and messaged each other and made
at least one last memory together
and i almost resent you for it.
once before i was left by someone who went to discover herself
in the big wide world and when she came back it was like
our friendship had never happened and i know that you know how i felt
because i told you one night before you left that i don't like being left behind
for that very reason because i was afraid that you would change
and that you would come back and our friendship wouldn't exist,
i hoped that if we had distance then everything would be fine in my last year of high school
before i would graduate and leave this town without any regrets
baby, i've burned myself away
Submitted by artisticthoughts on Sun, 10/28/2012 - 8:50pmbaby i've got myself a new addiction and you would kill me if you knew
that i quit cutting through your carefully sewn stitches because it was too easy
to get new ones and too easy for you to notice that i was breaking again
because i have a bit of an obsession with the idea of shattering into
a million pieces and your careful attempts at sewing me together
made me want to scream, made me want to cut through the strands
of your love that was holding me together and so now, now i've got myself
a new addiction baby
and this time there is no way to fix me.
this time you can't sew me back together because i'm becoming too hard
for your needle and your thread can't get through my skin because it is burning,
burning away your attempts at fixing me baby
with a little bic lighter and little yellow flame i've got you out of the way
and now you can't fix me because i'm too charred and if you touch me
with your needle i will just break because i am so burned out, i have
burned myself away into a pile of ash and dust
that you can't sew back together
and you will never know this because i will never tell you because i secretly
want you to make me a pile of nothing, then i would have an excuse
to die.
and baby, it would be all your fault.
tango
Submitted by artisticthoughts on Thu, 10/25/2012 - 6:58pmall she can taste is coppery blood,
eyes open wide with fear as his hands comes back
yet another time;
this is their ritual where his hand and her face
dance together to the tune of raised voices
and she swears each time that this will be the last
but finds herself unexplainably addicted to this dance they dance
together, wishing it could be less hard and more soft;
a waltz and not a tango.
home is not here
Submitted by artisticthoughts on Sun, 10/21/2012 - 3:13pmi'm fluent in the ways of the british
but i am only an american teenage girl who is not quite
anything in the world yet, hasn't yet gotten the chance
to travel the world and fly from this place
across the seas to the land where my heart belongs,
though it hasn't been there just quite yet.
i can speak in the language of those across the sea
but when it comes to home i cannot seem to understand
this somewhat more simple way of speaking where words
don't mean what they should mean and thoughts are just a bit too
outrageous.
cause for now i am just a teenage american girl
who wants to travel the world and go where her ancestors
once lived and speak in the tongues of those across the sea
but is stuck here in this place just waiting, waiting, waiting
for a chance to get on a plane and fly away
to a place i hope to someday call
home.
they were lies what she said
Submitted by artisticthoughts on Tue, 10/16/2012 - 8:21pm"they are just words" she said,
"they mean nothing" she said
she lied.
because there is no such thing as just words my dear
these are words and i am speaking them, writing them
onto paper and they have meaning and they are not
just anything, they are not
meaningless.
i can take these words and i can make things
that are ugly seem beautiful and i can make things that seem
boring a little bit more exciting, i can
use these "meaningless" words to make you feel
worthless just as easily as i can use them to make you feel
wonderfully meaningful.
so my dear, my dear little young one, don't listen
to her when she says that words are nothing
because they are something and they are not meaningless,
without them there would be nothing, they make things
and break things, they are
the very core of our beings - writer or not - because
we would all be nothing without these words, the words
that lift us up and pull us down.
and i ask you this;
if words really do mean nothing than how can i say
"I love you"
and actually mean
something.
the seperating glass
Submitted by artisticthoughts on Tue, 10/09/2012 - 7:17pm
her hands were pressed against glass, her every
breath was a struggle as she
screamed in her heart and soul, her mind
yelling and pleading and hoping that she could
stop looking through the glass and be on the
other side with her only child, her only baby girl, her whole
world.
it was the whole world gone wrong; a mother
bound to look through glass windows as her baby girl
wasted away in her white room, in her pale body
because of a stupid something that went wrong in her mind
when starving became her addiction and cutting became her
high.
white coated doctors became her new monsters
as they worked to fix something that wasn't quite
broken yet, as they
took away a girl from her mother and left them
both on different sides of a thick glass window, tears falling
on the glass like raindrops,
a mother bound to watch her whole world whither and die
right before her very
eyes.
the words are singing
Submitted by artisticthoughts on Thu, 10/04/2012 - 4:48pmthese words are singing through my mind
like your voice used to create beautiful melodies
out of almost nothing,
guitar in hand you were
invincible.
so now that you are off in the world
discovering yourself,
i just let my mind sing for you to fill up
that empty space where your music used to be
and i write lyrics for you, for songs that only i
will ever hear.
now i've got my own guitar in hand, i've got
words in my head that are singing and
i've got the voice to sing them
so the songs that i've written that you will never hear
can be heard by the ones who have words singing
in their heads too.
beat-up-old guitar
Submitted by artisticthoughts on Sat, 09/22/2012 - 10:11pmher fingernails were chipped and her fingers were hardened
from hours of struming on her beat-up-old guitar
sitting on street corners with her case wide open
and empty.
her clothes rested on bones with skin stretched tight
and her shoulders were slumped
but her eyes were alive with the music she was making,
she couldn't express herself in any other way than
her homemade songs and beat-up-old guitar.
the old abandoned ferris wheel
Submitted by artisticthoughts on Wed, 09/12/2012 - 5:30pm[inspired by this video - http://youtu.be/Z8tH_i47E-U by John Green]
they were screaming out to be heard,
voices pushing against the old abandoned ferris wheel
screaming, but only sounding in the soft wind
that moved them from silence into sound, pressing them
against the old metal carriages that once held
their laughing children.
they were screaming for redemption, for revenge
on the old rotting wooden steps
and the man who left it all behind,
confined to a prison cell,
letting their children's joy rot away
with the old wooden platforms.
the only way they could make it run
was by screaming into the wind
and hoping that it would push them with
enough force to make the old abandoned
ferris wheel
move again.
salty sea green eyes.
Submitted by artisticthoughts on Tue, 09/04/2012 - 4:16pmher eyelashes were sprinkled with dew-drop tears
that sparkled in the morning sun like diamonds
as her evergreen eyes gazed up into a far away place
where her dreams and long ago aspirations hid themselves
from her shattered heart and empty sea eyes.
once she was as full as the ocean and her eyes sparkled
in the middle of the night like stars
and her face was the moon,
but then the valve on her heart broke and she accidentally poured out
all of her salty sea green love
onto an empty beach and the stars in her eyes died,
her beautiful moon face no longer saw the beautiful light
in quiet darkness.
___________________________________________
I've officially returned after a month[ish] hiatus which you can blame camp, the end of summer, major procrastination on summer homework, and the beginning of school for.
It's definitely great to be back though and I have done a little writing here and there over the last month[ish] so hopefully I'm not too rusty!
~Artistic
soldier's wife
Submitted by artisticthoughts on Thu, 07/26/2012 - 6:47pmshe could feel the leaf brush against her face and she thought of
his breathe whispering against her ear;
telling her all of his secrets and his lies and the
truths that he had hidden for so long, but relenquished to her
ever-waiting ears with her head on his shoulder and his arms around her
and their bodies pressed together, fitting together like
two puzzle pieces that were a perfect match.
but now the only thing that her body was pressed against
was the cold tree, bark digging into her back through her light jacket
that let the wind cut right through to her bones making her shiver, making her
feel cold all the way through her body
like her bones had been frozen once again, brought back to the
brittle fragileness that they had been before him, before he
came along and began to thaw her out,
make her warm again.
her eyes were hard, the sparkle they had when she
was held in his arms next to the tree that was now the only thing
keeping her standing
was gone
and she refused to shed a tear, refused to look down at the letter
crumpled in her hand that told her that the man she loved, the only person
in the world who had been her perfect match,
was gone.
forever.
killed in battle, fighting bravely for his country and
her,
killed far away from home, far away from her arms
and n
a once in a lifetime chance at rescue
Submitted by artisticthoughts on Wed, 07/18/2012 - 9:37pmanna:
the music had run out and she was all alone, there was nobody
to ask her why her eyes were so dark and empty or if she was okay, nobody
seemed to notice that she wasn't okay.
she didn't want to go home at the end of the day, but she didn't
want to stay at school so she would slip away
like she was metaphorically slipping away inside
and go off to her own secret place in a tree house
that was falling apart slowly, left behind by a family that had
grown up and moved away;
leaving a tree house in a forest clearing that became
a secret haven for a young girl who was falling apart.
________________________________________________
damon:
sometimes he would sneak out into the woods behind
his house and find an old, abandoned tree house
climbing up the remains of a once solid ladder into a little house
that was missing boards on some walls and felt like it was lonely,
but sometimes he would find a piece of paper or a pencil that had been
left behind by somebody else that he liked to imagine was broken inside
and abandoned like him
with his alcoholic father and dead mother, wishing everyday that he could
someday find someone that was just as lost as he was, just as
close to disappearing into the night without a tra
her broken pieces
Submitted by artisticthoughts on Wed, 07/18/2012 - 9:11pmanna:
it was the maybes that made her think that maybe
she could become something more than a no good nothing;
a disappointment to her father and the daughter that her mother
wished was a son.
the magical place with a piece of my heart
Submitted by artisticthoughts on Fri, 07/13/2012 - 11:03ami miss the palm trees and the sound of ocean waves late at night
when the stars were shining in the cloudless sky
and i miss the balcony that i would slip out onto in the middle of the night
so that i could see the stars and the ocean waves and the moonlight
because everything felt so much more real there, felt so much more
alive than back in my home nestled between the mountains.
when the stars were shining in the cloudless sky
and i miss the balcony that i would slip out onto in the middle of the night
so that i could see the stars and the ocean waves and the moonlight
because everything felt so much more real there, felt so much more
alive than back in my home nestled between the mountains.
i fell in love with the ocean breeze and the sun and the moonlight,
but most of all;
i fell in love with the palm trees and the warmth that seeped into my
cold, pale skin and how the sun made me a little less pale and made my hair
a little less red, lightened by the small blonde streaks that showed themselves
after whole days laying out on the beach with the people that i never seem to get
enough time to bond with, the people who are part of my life forever and in those
days on the beach i felt like we were finally all together,
falling in love with everything around us;
as a family.
but most of all;
i fell in love with the palm trees and the warmth that seeped into my
cold, pale skin and how the sun made me a little less pale and made my hair
a little less red, lightened by the small blonde streaks that showed themselves
after whole days laying out on the beach with the people that i never seem to get
enough time to bond with, the people who are part of my life forever and in those
days on the beach i felt like we were finally all together,
falling in love with everything around us;
as a family.
it was in that place that i first fell in love with something other than
the willow tree behind my house or the way the sun sets behind the mountains, it was
the place where my heart felt full and happy and content, the place where
i left a little of me behind so that some day i would go back to the
palm trees and the ocean breeze and the moonlight and the sunshine
so when i got home i made a promise to myself that i would go back, i would travel
the willow tree behind my house or the way the sun sets behind the mountains, it was
the place where my heart felt full and happy and content, the place where
i left a little of me behind so that some day i would go back to the
palm trees and the ocean breeze and the moonlight and the sunshine
so when i got home i made a promise to myself that i would go back, i would travel
deaf songbird sing
Submitted by artisticthoughts on Sat, 06/30/2012 - 2:46pmshe only sings when nobody else can hear her,
like the lone tree that falls in a forest with no one
around to notice the sound,
and sometimes she wonders if she is really making
something worthwhile emerge from her lips, something
that maybe someone will call beautiful.
her whole world is a sound-proof box
that keeps the sound out and silence in as she
motions with her hands to speak and watches with
her eyes to listen, but sometimes she will
open her mouth like a songbird and sing without
knowing what her song sounds like, without knowing
if it is beautiful.
sound has never been heard by her ears
and sometimes she wonders if it exists, wonders
if the words she thinks she is humming
are even leaving her lips because she is too afraid
of disappointment to ask with her hands
if she can make a beautiful sound with her lips.
paper-thin [angsty]
Submitted by artisticthoughts on Thu, 06/28/2012 - 9:31amshe has this obsession, this unwavering desire
to become so paper-thin that her skin is just a thin layer stretched
across her brittle bones
because she wants to be as breakable on the outside
as she is on the inside
and she wants to be beautifully paper-thin like the girls that
seem to have everything tucked into the small back pocket
on their size 00 jean shorts.
she wants to be like the girls in their bikinis
that stretch out their beautifully thin bodies across
warm sand on california beaches with eyes closed, pretending
that they don't notice the gaze of the teenaged boys walking by
because she isn't noticed by anyone but her best friend who isn't even real,
just a figment of her imagination that never faded away
when she reached high school and realized that nobody wanted
to be friends with the fat girl.
and look at her now, look at her brittle bones and skin stretched
paper-thin across them as she starves herself for that perfect image
in her mind that, to her, is
perfection.
lasts
Submitted by artisticthoughts on Sat, 06/23/2012 - 9:17pm
there are so many lasts;
last songs
last kisses
last steps
last smiles
last gifts
last words
last breaths
last heartbeats
and i don't think i really noticed until you and i had our lasts;
last gift
last hug
last kiss
last words
in the last moments of the last time that i saw you until you took your
last breath and your heart beat one last time and you died with your last smile
still shining on your face.
you see, i miss you more everyday and i thought that it might
not hurt so much a year later, but it does
and i can't help but cry at night as i hold the last gift you gave me;
a bright yellow stuffed animal duck named ducky because i thought that
your pool cleaner was a duck when really it was a turtle
and that was the last time we laughed together.
when we had our last laugh together and our last words
i didn't know they were going to be our last
and when i said goodbye to you that night i meant it as
"goodbye i'll see you next summer when i turn 16"
not
"goodbye forever i'll see you in heaven"
level 9 earthquake on the richter scale
Submitted by artisticthoughts on Fri, 06/15/2012 - 11:05pm
i hate the idea of forever
and i may be the only person who trembles when someone mentions
eternity or infinity or forever and when those christian ministers
mention heaven,
but i do tremble, well actually
i quake;
like my body is the earth
and has just been struck by a level 9 earthquake on the richter scale
with houses collapsing in and mountains imploding while oceans are
exploading and people are screaming, screaming so loud that i can
hear it in my ears, ringing
like a million church bells on sunday morning while my heart
skips like a little girl and her friends playing double dutch on a saturday
afternoon and her mom is watching with a smile, but i'm not smiling
because my body is quaking like it has just been struck
by a level 9 earthquake on the richter scale.
i don't know why my body trembles
[quakes]
so much at the mention of forever, but i much prefer
to be stuck here in today and not give a damn
about what will happen tomorrow.
first love [late summer nights, or was it early morning?]
Submitted by artisticthoughts on Fri, 06/15/2012 - 12:20am
it's late at night
[or is it early morning?]
and i can't sleep and i don't know why and i think that
maybe it is because it is summer and during the summer i always think of
you
and how we used to talk to each other
until two and then my dad caught me and we couldn't
talk anymore except for during the day, but we still
stayed up until the morning thinking about each other and dreaming
about each other if we did slip into a short nap that turned into
a three hour nap that made us late for swim practice at six and we would
laugh if we missed it and call each other and bike to that old playground
and sit next to each other on the swings and hold hands and you tried to
kiss me and i turned away that one time because i was scared, but then
my parents put their foot down and forbade me from dating you
and i broke up with you and then i couldn't kiss you but i did anyway
when we both were taken, but we didn't care because i know i never
really got over you and i think you might have never really gotten over me
and now i'm still awake in the early morning in the summer;
subconsciously waiting for you to text me or chat me on facebook
[but i know you won't]
slipping through her fingers
Submitted by artisticthoughts on Wed, 06/13/2012 - 2:49pm
her hair used to fall around her shoulders in little waves like
firey water and now it is slipping through her fingers
like air as it falls to the ground, she can't
stop it, she can only watch as her once precious hair
becomes a pile of nothing on the carpet
and she can't help but
cry.
love drunk [adult content]
Submitted by artisticthoughts on Fri, 06/08/2012 - 8:17pm
i'm so lovesick i'm wasted,
with a pounding headache and an uneasy stomach
and i think that i might have just drank a little too much
last night when i was with you, you are my
alcohol.
[and i know that isn't really a compliment, but i can't help it
because that is what you are and always will be you see, you and me
are something that doesn't fit together like teenagers
and alcohol, you make me sick like beer on a friday night at a frat party
without even trying and i think that i just might be addicted.]
and i'm hungover from all of the love
that i was drinking last night when i was with you and you
didn't even look at me once, didn't even bother to say a simple "hello"
and i went home and cried myself to sleep because it hurt so much,
my eyes were bloodshot and empty and when i woke up i thought that maybe
you really are my alcohol because, damn, i looked
drunk.
[i acted drunk too, my speach was slurred and my legs unsteady
and everyone thought that maybe i did drink, maybe the good little christian girl
actually did go to a party and get drunk,
i wouldn't tell them that they were wrong.]
its funny because when i got home that night, smelling like beer
and pot smoke my mother didn't even notice and i think it might have been
because i didn't smell like beer or pot smoke,
i smelt like you,
my drink of choice and i spent another night with a headache and a stomach
how she fell
Submitted by artisticthoughts on Fri, 06/08/2012 - 12:24pm
part one: elementary school
"sticks and stones may break my bones
but words can never hurt me"
she sang, sang while they
called her ugly and fat and weird-looking, she sang it
when they called her retarded and stupid and dumb
to convince herself that they were just words, they have
no meaning.
part two: middle school
"sticks and stones may break my bones
but words can never hurt me"
she chanted to herself while walking
alone through crowded hallways, chanted as they
called her worthless and fake and self-centered
because she didn't want it to hurt as much as it did.
part three: high school
she changed her look and lost some weight,
and she whispered to herself, tried to convince herself that
"sticks and stones may break my bones
but words can never hurt me"
while they called her a slut and a whore and a bitch,
when she walked alone among her peers.
part four: when she fell
she stopped her singing and chanting and whispering
because she stopped her life with a bottle of pills
when the words became too much,
she could heal her broken bones but not
her broken heart.
