Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
Joilee May 15
Inhale.
Exhale.
A simple task that made the day great,
Yet every time I stop and listen to your words,
My head starts pounding,
My eyes turn red.
I bite my tongue to keep from yelling back.
Tears start to bubble, threating to spill onto my rosy cheeks.
I start to see the gray clouds turn red as I hear the disappointment in your voice.
Breath.
Inhale.
Exhale.
I relax,
Though the tears still silently fall down.
I take it all,
Knowing it'll happen again.
Joilee May 2
It's a black hole, engulfing all the light and good inside,
no one can comprehend this black hole,
you can only feel it.
Feeling the way it consumes your strength because you have to prevent yourself from screaming into the abyss.
It's running miles and miles, but only being able to breathe through a straw.
It silences you from speaking the true meaning of your words;
shredding you up thought by thought.
Yet, it's the one thing that will never leave.
Moving around in circles, like a dog chasing its tail,
trying to find an opening from the voice within.
Getting questioned 'what's wrong' and desiring to punch them is what this black aura does to people.
Having no sense of what's right or wrong at that moment.
It's not just butterflies in the stomach
or having your palms sweat
or feeling light-headed,
it's the feeling of wanting to throw up,
not being able to breathe properly,
the room getting smaller while feeling like everyone is judging you.
It can get so bad to the point where you start wanting to peel off your skin,
to shut your brain off,
but you can't.
It's impossible.
Joilee Apr 12
She can't look at her reflection the same way you do.
The way you squint when you stare at the sun, or the disgust on your face when you notice something revolting, it's the same way she perceives herself.
She tries her hardest to avoid anything that might have a reflection because she cannot bear the sight of herself.
You stand there happy with your clothes, hair, face, and body, yet she can't find a single feature in herself that she loves.
She's standing there watching all the guys drool over the petite, fearless girls,
in skinny jeans and a shirt that is two sizes too small for them.
She stands there pondering over the fact that these girls don't have enough self-esteem to be confident without revealing skin.
Yet here she is, in the shadows of everyone else.
Yes, she has friends. Yes, some think she shines as bright as the stars in the sky. But no one sees her in that way, the way people do when they love each other.
She has never tasted the excitement that other girls have when a boy approaches them and request to go on a date.
She stands in her group of friends comparing herself to others. She thinks she's not attractive enough or funny enough or courageous enough, or good enough.
And it doesn't help when the people pass by her and call her names. This is the girl that everyone looks over.
She is always the last choice or the girl you come scrambling to when you have a problem. But have you ever considered hers?
Yes, you question her if she's ok. Yes, you ask her what's wrong. But you never get the truth.
Can't you notice the lies that appear out of her mouth, the way the words roll off her tongue as though she has rehearsed it a thousand times? No, because you don't listen, you only hear.
You stand there judging her because she only has three pairs of jeans or the fact that she wears a sweater every day to hide the scars of her sorrow.
You can't see that she's broken but at the same time full of life.
You stand there watching her laugh, smile, mess around yet it's a lie.
The biggest lie she ever lets someone believe.
Joilee Apr 4
People say I'm smart, and they're not wrong, 
I have good grades, I know the difference between right and wrong, and I have common sense, 
but I couldn't see that you were a wolf in sheep's clothing. 
That you can have your way with anyone, 
and yes I understand that I partook in what we had called real.
Oh, brown-eyed boy, you're just like the rest; full of yourself, thinking you're not like the rest, but it's all ******* lies.
Brown-eyed boy, can't you see you hurt me?
Don't you see the lie is building up into the tallest wall, one I can't break down or climb,
so I wait, patiently, but I cannot take your ******* anymore,
Brown-eyed boy, you don't see me as someone who has feelings, you see me as a past.
I see that you don't want to crush me under your foot, but now you have me in a choke hold.
It's a hold only you can take me out of if you would grow up.
I'm tired of gasping for air, tired of others giving me borrowed air that doesn't belong in my lungs, so brown-eyed boy why can't you turn your filter off?
You keep it on to 'protect' others when it only breaks down. 
You use it to bend the truth into a phrase that you think we want to hear, but that's what is making this a ******* war zone.
You are what's making everyone's eyes turn red and fill with smoke. 
You caused the hatred that people feel towards one another in our ring of insanity.
I don't understand why people think your new rose is the main problem.
Oh, how no one wants to blame the brown-eyed boy for the anger, the sadness, they can't see through your ******* mask.
But brown-eyed boy, you ****** up.
Brown-eyed boy, you let everyone who can see, see your mask fall off.
You buried the dead iris that lost your interest.
You stomped all over something that deserves more than the ******* lies coming out of your mouth.
Brown-eyed boy, you understand what it means to not be an *******, you know, you see, but you somehow can't.
You somehow can't own up to your actions, or your lies, or your mistakes.
Maybe, brown-eyed boy, it's because I was a mistake, and if that's the reason, then why did you let it go on?
Why did you try so hard to make it work if you never wanted to go on with me?
Brown-eyed boy, I don't want to lose you, but I can't take the fake screen you put up for me.
I don't care if you like the rose more, I don't care if you hated iris' in the first place; I don't ******* care if your brown eyes can only see red in this world.
I care that you left me wandering in the dark with your lies tieing me down.
Brown-eyed boy, you left a mess.
Brown-eyed boy, I don't know what the truth is with you anymore, or if I should believe you.
I don't understand why you haven't stopped the rumors.
I do not get why you take me as an amateur who will leave it alone because I won't, until looking at you, being with a rose, doesn't spark my curiosity, until I know for certain that you're not scissors, cutting down flowers when you have lost the joy with them.

— The End —