Oct 18
Alaina.J_27's picture

Bottles

I pop off the top of my scalp
like the top of a cookie jar.
It's the secret place
where I keep all my dreams.
Little balls of sunshine, 
bouncing around like 
a little bundle of kittens.
I reach inside with my
thumb and forefinger
and pluck one out.

It is warm, 
radiating with potential.
I quickly put it in the bottle to keep it safe.
And I put that bottle on the self 
with all the others.
Happy thoughts, sad thoughts,
angry thoughts, cool thoughts.
All those thoughts,
safely put in bottles,
lined up in a row.

My collection helps me help my friends.
Each bottle a starlight to make amends.
Sometimes my friend feels a certain way;
Down comes a bottle to save the day.

Night after night, 
more and more dreams.
Friend after friend,
stranger after stranger,
down come more bottles.
Deeper and deeper my bare nails go;
like exploring a cave,
discovering the secrets hiding in the 
nooks and crannies.
Digging and digging.
Scraping and scraping.

I blow dust off my bottle caps.
It doesn't feel like time elapsed.
My empty shelf could use some more.
My friends look through my locked front door.

Finally, all done.
I open up and in come my friends.
in they come, in such a hurry.
Do they want my bottles that much?
I frantically pull them from the shelf,
one after the other.
Holding them out to each and every person.
Each and every bottle.
But every time I let one go,
it shatters against the wood beneath my feet.
Happy thoughts, happy thoughts,
happy thoughts all in shards scattered on the floor.

They were supposed to be for my friends.
My friends who aren't smiling.
They're all shouting, yelling, screaming.

Now I realize that they weren't 
my friends at all.
They just acted like it.
They were fake.
I thought they were real.
I told them my secrets,
let them into my dreams,
gave them happy thoughts
when they weren't happy.

But none of it was real.
I poured my heart and soul 
into those bottles,
to help, my friends.
But they weren't my friends.
They weren't true friends.
And I will never let myself
make that same mistake again.

Now all that there remains
are the broken pieces of my heart
on the floor,
blending in with the shards
of shattered glass,
glinting in the sunlight,
like the deadly weapon it can be.