Justasadgirl - Hello Poetry

There she sits, with her back to the sun. Her hair seems as black as the devils soul. If he ever owned one, I’d imagine. I wonder what she scribbles of today. Memories, stupid ******* memories. Boxes of them. Labeled & neatly shoved to the ceiling. I’m left with a storage unit receipt and an empty bed. Puzzling how one can seem so beautiful. Yet so utterly disgusting inside. What has our world failed to offer? You seem to be breathing & writing this, Aren’t you darling? It’s ok to be sad. It’s ok to feel pain, to be angered. To be consumed by hate. Drenched with rage and bitterness. Doused with mania. I hope it haunts you. I hope you pay every-day. With everyone. With everything. With every interaction. I hope it hits you. I hope it hits you when you’re starving. I hope you feel sick. You don’t deserve the substance that leaks from this pen. But here it is. So tell me. Enlighten me. How do you feel now? Knowing that I no longer am capable of sleeping at night. Congratulations. Brooke Constantino

0

Nov 24, 2017

Nov 24, 2017 at 7:03 PM UTC

Untitled

There she sits, with her back to the sun. Her hair seems as black as the devils soul. If he ever owned one, I’d imagine. I wonder what she scribbles of today. Memories, stupid ******* memories. Boxes of them. Labeled & neatly shoved to the ceiling. I’m left with a storage unit receipt and an empty bed. Puzzling how one can seem so beautiful. Yet so utterly disgusting inside. What has our world failed to offer? You seem to be breathing & writing this, Aren’t you darling? It’s ok to be sad. It’s ok to feel pain, to be angered. To be consumed by hate. Drenched with rage and bitterness. Doused with mania. I hope it haunts you. I hope you pay every-day. With everyone. With everything. With every interaction. I hope it hits you. I hope it hits you when you’re starving. I hope you feel sick. You don’t deserve the substance that leaks from this pen. But here it is. So tell me. Enlighten me. How do you feel now? Knowing that I no longer am capable of sleeping at night. Congratulations. Brooke Constantino

34

i sit unbothered as my insides have become artfully intertwined into knots so much so my sweet dearest grand-mother could crochet a winter quilt with these guts of mine how i wish our public educational system would have enlightened our youth enlightened us enlightened us, that there would be days such as this brooke constantino

0

Nov 20, 2017

Nov 20, 2017 at 12:26 PM UTC

Untitled

i sit unbothered as my insides have become artfully intertwined into knots so much so my sweet dearest grand-mother could crochet a winter quilt with these guts of mine how i wish our public educational system would have enlightened our youth enlightened us enlightened us, that there would be days such as this brooke constantino

10

I hear nothing but black and flickers of dimed candles Shadows and I waltz For they do not judge me Of course my demons’ How did I become this deranged Nothing but black This bed-linen now A blushing civil war It tickles me pink Or maybe it Helps me recognize That my crazy is ******* gorgeous Yet sickening Are you happy? Sun up till sun down It’s cold now, and so am I I see you every where In every thing In every one In the tiny wrinkles that rest upon my Antarctic like hands The car that cut me off this morning The lumps stuck in my throat when someone asks how you are The chilly 5 minute walk to my vehicle on the hill In the empty space that haunts me every night when I close my eyes It’s cold, but so are you Am I that easy to escape ones memory? Brooke Constantino

0

Nov 10, 2017

Nov 10, 2017 at 1:09 PM UTC

Untitled

I hear nothing but black and flickers of dimed candles Shadows and I waltz For they do not judge me Of course my demons’ How did I become this deranged Nothing but black This bed-linen now A blushing civil war It tickles me pink Or maybe it Helps me recognize That my crazy is ******* gorgeous Yet sickening Are you happy? Sun up till sun down It’s cold now, and so am I I see you every where In every thing In every one In the tiny wrinkles that rest upon my Antarctic like hands The car that cut me off this morning The lumps stuck in my throat when someone asks how you are The chilly 5 minute walk to my vehicle on the hill In the empty space that haunts me every night when I close my eyes It’s cold, but so are you Am I that easy to escape ones memory? Brooke Constantino

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