No liver, no lungs. No talking equals no hate. Scared of the outcome when the outcome is bland. Hearts must be 1,000 times the size. Even if you forget and forgive people won't let you leave the past behind. Mistakes are mistakes, not failures.
I step onto the blacktop stage. Sun burning on my skin. People smile, people point. We're doing the Ice Cream Soda game. "Ice cream soda, Cherry on the top, Who's your boyfriend/girlfriend I forgot!" The jump rope swung as my feet went into motion. A, B C, D! I was doing great. E, F- I looked at her. She won't know. I stop and people cry, people scream. They think I like Jake but I like her.
Two tulips, two tulips. The two tulips love each other. And they both love tulips. The two tulips hold hands. People cry, people scream. The Two are split up. 2 tulips become 1 tulip, and another tulip. A tulip, forced to marry a rose. The rose didn’t have a tulip. The rose only had a Rose. “A tulip and a rose is the way to go.” People shouted through out the streets. Tulips and Roses. Women and Men.
Click, click. Click, click. He was blinded by the light. He smiled knowing it was a camera. Click, click. Click, click. His family looked at him in despair. Why aren’t they smiling? Aunt Betty is crying? Click, click. Click, click. The light got closer, his vision was non-existent. Click, click. Click, click. He reached toward the light to shut it off. Still smiling for the picture. Maybe his friend was kidding around? That’s why his family was sad, they’re disappointed. Click, click. Click-. Silence.
He layed in the hospital bed, almost dead. His family looked at him. Knowing it was the last sight of him thriving. The electrocardiogram lost noise as his daughter screamed He reached out for the ceiling and closed his eyes.
My knees are weak as I fall to the ground. The stairs I lay on has yellow fuzzy carpet. Carpet that is full of crumbs, dust, and nail polish. The yellow carpet was once white, but is now not, no one knows why only it knows. My knees can’t stabilize as my brain can’t make a move. Without a moving body I have no moving brain, but I can’t have a moving body without a brain. All I can think of is the words you put in my head. I’m to scared of your movements and every word you say is like a million of needles pinching me to teach me a lesson. I’ve become to weak that I don’t seem weak to myself. Because for as long as I can remember I’ve been like this, weak. That I forgot how it felt to try or work hard. So once I lay on the yellow fuzzy carpet. Not worried someone will see my salty tears hit the stairs, or see me falling to the ground. All I care about it whether or not if you know your words hurt too much to explain. Whether or not you choose to be this way. Because I’m feeling the yellow fuzzy carpet beneath me, and I’ve been on this yellow fuzzy carpet stairway to many times before.
Is this okay? It's practically a draft and I only feel a need to write poetry when I am panicking or crying