Yleek Namtrah
Yleek Namtrah
Jul 1, 2011

She was never more than this washed up town
Such long lazy days, they never did anything but get longer and hotter
Filling up the balloons of teenage rebellion
Until they burst into limp pieces
Some harder to put together than others
But isn't this what summer is for?

She described her body like it was something more than it was
And everyone agreed
Except every morning after that startling freezing shower
She looked in the mirror
And dreaded the feel of a dry towel on every unwanted handful of skin
Every crease and curve that to her, looked wrong
Too big, too small, too disproportionate
And that is why she could never let the sun dry her off
Soaking up each individual tear shaped drop like it needed it
Like it needed water, air and food
Like it was happy to take her moisture and rid her of humility and insanity
Something that winter just couldn't give her
But isn't that what summer is for?

She was distressed and took her stress out on the one she truly needed
Every summer needs a love story
But her love story was miles away
Pixelated mouth, nose, eyes, and hair
So close she could taste it on the inside of her cheeks
Running hot down her throat and into her stomach to digest
Digest into a sickness called sorrow, churning her stomach until it all came back up as bile
Acidic and painful
She just couldn't let him see
All she could do was touch the burning screen of her computer
And pretend
Dress up to make the story more real
Dress up like she could change what she had done wrong
Dress up to impress and lock in
And then dress it all down again for mutual pleasure of her own hungry fingers
Afterwards, she would whisper goodbye until tomorrow
Or more accurately, today
And slip into the cold sheets that seem to only see a few hours of sleep
And drift off, the light of midmorning already peeking through her shades
And she would cry herself into a desperate rest
Dreaming of being filled with love until she could handle no more
But isn't that what summer is for?

She wakes up every afternoon and goes out to forget
Inhaling the sweet smoke of white paper and green leaf
Easing her burning throat with the fire of Vodka and juice
Her head will swim
Her vision will disappear
And she will think back to the past month
The month she could have made everything
But instead wasted away just like she is wasting away her last day
Right now
Tomorrow she'll be home
Tomorrow she'll be sober
Tomorrow she'll be back in his arms
Tomorrow she'll look in the mirror again
And see something she wishes she always saw
Something alive
Something that held meaning and passion for what she wanted in life
Inspiration will spark in her eyes
Trailing down through her heart to her fingertips and toes
Seeping out through every opening until it bursts through
And she will write each word with every emotion she's every felt
Because, well...
Isn't that what summer is for?

 
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