Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
She couldn't remember the last time the sky was blue
And the grass was green

Her agonizing screams
Left unheard
All because you were at fault
For the scars under her sleeves
And the blood going down the drain

She longed for the blade to take her to the other side with
One
Swift
Slice

She tied the rope
Took the pills
Sharpened the knife

Yet still
No one noticed

Where is she now?

Still hanging
Just waiting
For someone to care
Just enough to bring her out of her darkness
Our ideals are
so easily scattered
as a voice whispers
see, I told you so
but we should know
that just because
it is so with
another does
not mean it
will be with
us.
(c) Brooke Otto
I’ve got no right and of that I’m very well aware, that I should have a say in how you wear your hair. That I shouldn’t think it looks the nicest after you’ve showered, when it’s darker and the lines of your combs teeth leave neat rows in your styled way.  

Or maybe that I love you when you’ve shaved, but also grizzly bear you reminds me it’s the weekend. When you're ruff, I know there are a few more precious hours in the Saturday and Sundays on the calendar.

I won’t ever tell you that your grey tee shirt is my favorite of your limited wardrobe, and that you in my favorite color—it’s blue if you  were wondering, though I'm sure you already know— makes my head swoon for a bit. When you wear a button up, and leave it un-tucked, I think about the white vee neck beneath and how I can see it peeking out from beneath your collar.  

I love the way your suit jacket makes you stand up straighter, and how your suit pants when you sit reveal those brown socks you always wear with your wingtips. I even love those blue jeans (I think they’re your only pair) that aren’t stylish, but soft and comfortable. And the brown belt with the cracking leather and brass buckle you always play with when you’re laying on the floor with me, watching nonsense tv at the end of a day. I love your sweatpants, and the way that when you lie on your side, your boxer band shows like a tease. I like the way you never fix it, but it fixates me.
I tried to forget you with someone else.
but when he smiled (and he did it often)
I remembered the serious face you have most of the time, like you are analyzing what surrounds you, taking in every detail and how your smile is like a shooting star, only to be seen once in a while.
And I forced myself to kiss him,
foolishly thinking that would keep you out of my mind, so naive to think I could take out of my head someone that lives in my heart, and that those strange lips could fill the void of not having yours.
I came back home. I broke down once again.
This morning I picked my pieces and put them back together. My lips that kissed you, my hands that held you, my eyes blinded by you, every piece of me that has had you and glued it all to go out and try again.
RM
You said your words always came in threads
Stitch me up
patch up my insercutries with your sewing machine lips
let me use them to sew the memory of you into the fabric of my mind
I want to embroider our broken pieces and make a quilt out of us
When she was a little girl, she said she wanted to be an author. She didn't want to be a ballerina or cow girl. Maybe an actress would do, for she had quite a flair for the dramatic.

But to the world, she was so shy, cripplingly shy, and she had very low, self-esteem. She didn't dare to dream too much, for she couldn't imagine really doing anything that could draw attention to herself. She often just wanted to hide, and her imagination accompanied her in her world.

She remembered her grade school teacher reading to her class about Abraham Lincoln. She came home that day, and somehow she wrote it just as well as she could remembrer it, with her own pictures, too. Her mother was so impressed that she bragged to everyone that her daughter wrote it all on her own, out of her own head. It must have looked that convincing to her mother.

But as she grew older, the girl didn't ever give herself permission to write something, even when it was required in school to write a poem. It was daring. She could be made fun of.

How could someone like you do that?

She wasn't unintelligent. She had a good command of the English language. She even went to college and earned a degree, the only one out of three children. But she had her heart set on psychology.

When she moved away from home in her twenties, she suddenly flourished. She took community education classes in painting, and had no idea she really could pull of what she did. Painting felt so free, like such an accomplishment. It felt good to create, to work with her hands.

And then she was on a roll. She began to write, and you just couldn't stop her. Most of her writing was pretty good, and some of her work was not to her liking. Years later she would read them again, and she could see that some so-so ones could be salvaged, or the better ones could even be better yet by fixing some of them up. She once thought she had reached her peak, but when the roller coaster of life brought her new thoughts, she was on another roll.

She wanted to be a published author, but she learned that it really wasn't about being well-known. She tried to publish some poems, but she learned that no matter what she did, she was still an author. Whether she was doing it for living, or for the love of writing, she was still a writer. She was what that little girl wanted to be, but who was terrified it could happen more than she was terrified that it wouldn't come true.

Her ultimate dream was to write a novel. Her uncle, very close in age, was angry at her for writing what he thought was a fantastic draft of a novel. She tore it up, for it was way over her head. And did this all without the help of a computer, scribbling away in notebooks. and haphazard means, that she could even barely read. Her penmanship was never very good.

Imagination has always been a good guide, fueling her with scenerios in her head about people that she had invented, that she had created, with bits and peaces of real life experiences and observations. But translating her thoughts to paper were often a challenge, not always easy to portray as she had thought of them. She surely had a gift, and she didn't think she really deserved it. She took one writing class, and she seemed to do well. But she didn't pursue it much further than a single class, and a few poetry readings.

Someone she knew from her church had got on her case for not writing every day.

You have a gift, and you aren't using it. God gave you that gift".    

"Well, let Him take it away", she retorted to the accusation.

But it would not be taken away. Writing was a catharsis, when life got too heavy. It was an escape, a place she could design her own world--at least on paper.  It was a way to feel freedom and expression that did not come so easily in life. It brought her such satisfaction when done to her approval, when good feedback came.

No, she would not write everyday. She was not a machine, but she knew she would never want writing to be taken away or denied her. That, scared, little girl that once declared that she wanted to be an author never really went away, for her desires were not fickle, not a passing fancy.  

So even if she did not have anything published, sitting on a store bookshelf. thanks to the internet, she has been able to share her thoughts, her fears, her hopes, her dreams, her disappointments--her words on display.

She knows she is in good company.
There was little that dribbled from my pen
On the night where I desired it most

And your ghost haunted my fingertips
And the words I said haunted my lips

And there was nothing left but silence
And emotions that no one felt

And there was nothing left to say
Because the air swept it away
In a moment of weakness
I said that I felt
like I was in your world now-
and it's true.

And don't get me wrong,
it's less than ideal,
But I still feel
so much more sorry for you.

Because I am in your head now,

And this time
it's going to take more than
a tank of gas,
a quick **** from someone new,
a million hits from whatever **** you're smoking now, or
a few bottles of whiskey
to get rid of me.

I never had a choice.
This reality has always been my truth,
(And it might be overdue)
but the only difference is
that  now it includes you.
Welcome to my hell.
Next page