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Alisha Jan 2016
A storm was coming,
She knew it was close and it would devestate her
Her mentors urging her to depart
She could've left ,
She should've left.
Yet, she stayed back at great cost
Alienated and pitied,
For the innocent souls who depended on her
She could've left,
She should've left.
The storm is now her world,
But her children live in sunshine
She lays beside the beast each night,
Whilst her angels play with sun rays
She could've left,
She should've left.
But she didn't
For she isn't a martyr , she is a mother
Alisha Jan 2016
Pretend is the name of the game
Pretend is how it's played
There's not much to learn
And it's everyone's turn
Pretend is the name of the game
Pretend is how it's played
There are no winners
It's a game full of sinners
Pretend is the name of the game
Alisha Jan 2016
An incomprehensible enormity lies around
Gaze into the enormity above
Modest and unassuming
And then ponder,
On the pretentious pride you uphold
  Jan 2016 Alisha
Jennifer
“Mummy I’m sick” said the girl pale white
The mum turned around in an awful fright
exclaimed, “What’s wrong? How do you feel?’
She replied with an honesty “I never feel real”.

The mother just sighed, went back to her book.
The little girl shocked didn’t know where to look
and went back to bed, in her nothingness room
Whilst her mother ignored her nothingness gloom

The next year the girl aged, just turned thirteen,
she called out to her mum who couldn’t be seen.
And shouted down stairs “mum something is wrong”
with the mothers reply “what the hell’s going on”

So the girl with the pause says “Mum I feel sad”,
Then the mum goes on about all the girl has
and how lucky she is, and no fuss should be made
Just think happy thoughts, it will all go away.

To which the teenage girl said “you’re right” with a breath,
and goes to her room, feels like turning to death,
but switches off her light and lays in her gloom,
her room filled with nothing, fit for a tomb.

Now just turned sixteen, her heart had just broke,
a boy that she loved continued to joke
about all the things, she hated the most
her weight, her smile, she felt like a ghost

And after a week, she spoke to her mum,
about feeling so fat and feeling so numb.
Unfortunately for her, the cliche applied,
about how all teens feel this, trying to clarify
to her girl that the “fact” is it isn’t real
stop saying you’re sick, illness isn’t how you feel



This time she said nothing and went to her room
stopped talking to the boy who filled her with fumes
the thoughts of hatred and self deprecation
she knew it was time for her mum’s “education”
to see that her sickness long wasn’t all in her head
it was something deep down that started to spread

And weeks went by with planning and thought,
to show how her feelings and illness was fought,
she searched through the house for a constructive fight,
to clearly scream out what she knew was right
“Mum, I need help I don’t want to die”
but this was too late to say, the time was nigh

and finally the next day she calls for her mum
screaming “mum I’m hurt please just come”
with a relentless sigh, she walks up the stairs
to her little girls room, destroying her prayers
that her daughter was better, she wasn’t still sad
and the realisation of what she said was bad

her little girl kneeling, white and pale,
with blood on her hands, began to wail
in physical pain with emotional struggle
the mum had realised, her girl was in trouble
and picked her up and took her away
to a place where people like her could go stay.

And finally after years of trouble and fraught,
this girl knew she was allowed to be distraught…
Alisha Jan 2016
The perfect two
The kindred spirits
A fantasy or an actuality, I wonder
For the fairytale that I live in
Princesses are merchandise
And the prince is the merchant
Alisha Jan 2016
White noise,
the world around blurs past
its cacophony like white noise.
Sometimes so piercing,
even the deaf may cringe,
sometimes so mellifluous,
even the able would weep.

— The End —