•just an idiot who thinks she’s a good writer• if a story is deleted, that simply means that it is under review for publication. if rejected, the poem will be republished on here. dawncanttellastory on tumblr :)
•just an idiot who thinks she’s a good writer• if a story is deleted, that simply means that it is under review for publication. if rejected, the poem will be republished on here. dawncanttellastory on tumblr :)
Nobody really knew
the girl in the casket.
Including me.
Caroline, was her name?
Or was it Cassidy?
Does it even matter now?
She’s dead.
I remember,
she sat a few seats behind me
in Algebra.
The teacher never called on her,
and she never raised her hand.
The day after she died,
I remember our teacher asking if we wanted to say a few words about her.
We all looked around at each other,
silently...
Why?
Why must I,
a child,
be responsible
for knowing everything
about
shit
I
should
not
know?
I don’t want to hear
about the boy that was shot dead
a mile from my high school.
I don’t want to listen
to the men on TV
explain away my rights.
I don’t want to know
how many innocent people have died
in a war across the ocean.
I just
don’t want
to know....
Can you keep a secret?
I’ve fallen in love.
I’ve fallen in love with the trees outside my bedroom.
They’ve been alive for so long,
and will be alive long after we part.
I’ve fallen in love with the scars on my body.
They aren’t pretty,
but they remind me
of why I must keep fighting.
I’ve fallen in love with the local mall I’ve frequented my whole life.
It is dying.
We must keep it from doin...
“You love me.”
“Yes, yes I do.”
“Why?”
“Why should I not?”
“It’s not beautiful, loving me.”
“That’s okay, I still love you.”
“But why?”
“You make me feel alive again, your perfections and imperfections, they are beautiful.”
“Even my imperfections?”
“Yes, even your imperfections.”
“But how can my imperfections be beautiful, when all I see is the aftermath of a hurricane?”
“I don’t know, they just a...
I grab my sister’s hand
and pull her towards
the cliff edge with me.
She nods slowly in my direction.
Then we jump.
And we are free,
like doves
released at a wedding.
Only we weren’t celebrating
the union of two lovers,
we were escaping
the harsh reality
of our world.
We had been
the caged doves,
looked upon
and laughed at
by our captors.
We were the innocent,
the vulnerable,
the replaceabl...
Worry not, my love,
your scars will heal over,
and new skin will erase
the memories
that haunt you
in your waking hours.
And your voice
will lose the shakiness,
that projects your emotions
into the stratosphere.
And your heart
will calm itself,
and give you a moment of peace,
for the first time in years,
since you were cut down
when you were still green.
Worry not, my love,
that pain isn’t you...
Contrary to
popular belief,
I’ve never been in love.
I’ve never had someone
to be in love with, for one.
And for two?
Nobody has been there
to ever love me.
So I write these romantic poems,
imagining the hands
of my invisible lover
as they caress my cheek
and tell me that
all is right in the world.
And people love these
romantic poems,
and ask me
if I draw from experience.
I never answer,
I neve...
Drowning,
I am drowning.
Drowning in this sea,
this world,
and her unforgiving hand
that which I have been dealt.
I am drowning.
I am drowning.
I am drowning.
Help me,
please.
Force me to reject
the idea that is Death.
Breathe me back to Life,
and keep me afloat
above this ocean
and her wonderful embrace,
that makes me feel alive.
But still,
I am drowning,
and this embrace,
is more like a chokeho...
It is common
to be afraid of the dark,
to be afraid of the unknown.
All humans fear the dark.
But what happens
for those who seek it?
They are the brave,
the reckless,
they care not for
their own selves,
but for
the uncovering of
knowledge,
knowledge we
are afraid of uncovering.
And yet,
they are just as feared
as the dark,
as the unknown,
simply because
they know
the unknown....
And she is still new to this world,
dwarfed by her mother,
her fur like fresh velvet.
What will she see in her short life?
The headlights of a car,
careening towards her?
Down the barrel of a hunting rifle?
And she is so beautiful,
with innocent eyes,
and legs too weak to walk on.
She tries anyway.
And that’s the beauty
of life,
trying,
even if you think
you are going to fail.
Because just lik...