ashley

ashley Mar 2013

I've never seen God,
Nor have I heard him call.
Maybe he's a myth.
Maybe he's not real at all.

My mother always tells me
To pray at night;
For my sins, thoughts, and items;
To talk to him in the night.

But talking to someone I don't know exists
Feels like talking to a brick wall.
Therefore I don't speak to him,
Not ever, not at all.

When I am in bed
And think about feelings I've felt,
My friends say,
"Pray to God, I know he can help."

I just nod lightly
And give them a small smile.
They mirror my image
While holding the Bible.

I don't know what to think.
Is this God really real?
I truly am confused
And don't know what to feel.

ashley Mar 2013

Schitzophrenia

Here she lies, trapped in her own mind,

a constant battle of the bad and the kind.

He fights inside of her, wanting to be free.

But it is only she who sees

him, on the inside of her soul.

Without him, she is not whole.

She truly hates him

she finds him a sin,

but no matter what she does,

she'll never be the person she once was.

He lives inside of her, controls her, fights her,

She tries to find him, but all she sees is a blur.

Sometimes, she makes out his blonde hair and blue eyes,

but finds it is simply just a disguise

of the man he really is.

He is her and she is him.

He's trapped inside and will live there forever;

she believes he will never forget her.

ashley Mar 2013

The Ocean Blue

The waves crashed wildly upon the sandy shore,

floating around her toes.

She felt like a bird, ready to soar

into the bright blue sky, where the soft wind blows.

She looks out into the open sea

and sees what lies ahead.

Could the sea ever be

something she could dread?

The thought makes her laugh,

for the sea is nothing but great.

More like her other half,

it is. A little something like fate.

The breeze rushes by in a whisper,

almost as if it had kissed her.

ashley Mar 2013

Alphabetical: Helpless

A young girl sits alone, scrunched in a corner of her room. She

Bawls her eyes out as tears fall onto her little blue dress.

Crying has become somewhat normal for her now.

Days like these, she tries to shut out the scenes of her father's raging

Eyes, dark and cold as he comes to attack her once again. For years, her

Father has been doing this to her. The worst thing is that she can't do anything about it.

Growing up without her mother to protect her, she doesn't see the point in living anymore.

Hatred fills her father's eyes as he looks her over.

In an instant, his fist connects with her tear-stained face, cheeks aching from the pain of his

Jolting actions. She holds her cheek as it pulsates under her fingertips. Her father's

Knuckles are ****** and bruised from impact, but he just shruggs it off as if it's nothing.

Looking around the room helplessly, the girl clasps onto her locket, dangling around her neck.

Mommy, she whispers, why aren't you here? Why can't you save me from Daddy?

Now is when the tears come flooding back, pouring down her face. If

Only she could run away. If only someone would notice the bruises that cover her

Pale skin. Why can't they see it?

Questions race through her mind: Why me? Who will save me? She

Realizes she doesn't know the answer to either of them. She doesn't know what else to do but

Sit in that corner, curled in a fetal position on the hardwood floor.

Time passes by before her eyes, each and every day.

Under her, she hears her father's footsteps inching closer and closer. At first they're soft,

Very, very soft. Almost as quiet as a whisper. Then, they increase speed, coming forth.

When he suddenly approaches, a smirk plays on his lips. She plays with the small

Xylophone perched by her frail legs, hoping the sound will drown out her father's.

You can only pray, a voice whispers in her ear. She focuses on that voice,

Zoning out the voices of terror inside her head.

ashley Mar 2013

A Dying Flame

it's true, what they say
that everyone is broken
darkness covers day
and clouds the heartbroken

the light tries
to outshine the dark
your weary cries
create a bright spark

the stars shine bright
and strike to take aim
they shine down upon the night
thee raging red flame

your bones are crushed,
and thy soul captured
thy whispers hushed
a heart still fractured

to repair the pain
you have to dig deep
you have that to gain
thy soul to keep

now look up at the sky
and into the flaming sun
diminish thy trapped cries
because now, you have won

ashley Mar 2013

The Art of Being Different

I stroll through the halls,

surrounded by boring beige walls.

Students pass by

and don't even wonder why

I'm so down,

or why my smile has turned into a frown.

But it's not like they care.

All they do is stare

in my direction.

I shield myself for dear protection.

They know I'm different.

It's almost like they can feel it.

She's not one of us, they say,

We have to make her suffer and pay.

They shout words at me left and right,

trying to scare me and cause fright.

My eyes water until I can no longer see

the pain that is being lashed at me.

I run into the bathroom and lock myself in a stall.

They once saw me rise; now they see me fall.

I cry into my blotchy hands until I can take no more.

I scream and shout, and kick the door.

The lock breaks from the impact of my shoe.

The girl that walks in doesn't have a clue

that I'm behind this bathroom door,

crying because I can't take anymore.

My whimpers and cries

no longer hide my disguise.

I am weak.

A loser, so to speak.

a.m.

ashley Mar 2013

His Icy Glare

His dark silver eyes glance over at me from across the room,

bearing into my soul, stripping me with his mind.

I feel his eyes scan my body, and I fold my hands

over my chest, feeling violated from the intesity of his gaze.

His jet black hair falls to his forehead, grazing the skin

of his upper eyelids. I can see him sneaking glances

at me from time to time and I cringe. Goosebumps

rose to my pale skin as if from the chilly air.

Once the bell rings, I grab my binder,

along with my notebook and lined paper,

and shove them deep into my bag.

I sling it over my shoulder and began walking at a

rough pace. Students crowd the hallways,

pressing into me from all sides. I feel small in comparison.

Not looking back, I continue to my destination

out through the school doors, but before I had the chance

to reach them, a cold, bony hand latches onto my arm.

He leans into me, his pale lips grazing against my earlobe.

I'm always watching, he whispers,

a cold huff of air sending shivers down my spine,

making my bright blue eyes turn icy.

He drops his frail fingers away from his grasp

and walks off, out into the frosty winter day.