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parker Jan 2019
my mouth is full
of doll hair and bubbles
you know what you did
you knew what you did

you saw me playing
i was “too old”
you took them away
you took a piece
of me
now i take a piece
everytime i pull
a hair from my scalp

my mouth is full
of doll hair
you know what you did
you knew what you did

you kissed me
when i didn’t want it
i backed away
you did not
i still feel your mouth
on my chin
as i rip the skin
off my lips

my mouth is full
of bubbles
you know what you did
you knew what you did

no matter how hard
i try to speak
doll hair and bubbles
block my words
text lost in translation
always comes out the same
“i’m fine”
i’m not
you took away my childhood
and you took away my adolescence
what’s left?

you know what you did
you knew what you did
my mouth is full
of doll hair and bubbles
she took my childhood
and she took what was left
  Jan 2019 parker
Chameleon
Each hair I pluck from my head feels good; well satisfying at the time.
Until I look at it in my fingers.
I can see where my natural hair color ends and where the blonde begins.
I run it over my fingertips and then drop it off to my side.
Time to find another.
And another.
Until I realize in a panic that I have just pulled out even more of what was left of my bangs.
Perfect.
Let's see if I can figure out how to cover this up, or maybe this time I can't.
What then?
parker Sep 2017
candle headed kids,
melting under pressure.
contorting and dying under the weight of something so bright and important:
a flame.
the burn of a good future just an arms reach away.
the heat of not letting anyone down.
the scorching pain of reaching through the flame,
the one thing destroying them,
just to succeed.
just to not let anyone down.
just to live.
anxious.
forever anxious.

smog headed kids.
they cannot breathe.
their thoughts,
contorting around their lungs,
killing them.
so dark,
so dark in their minds.
the need for pain,
the feeling of undeserving.
no one understands a smog headed kid.
forever choking over their own mind.
whether your head is filled with smog or candle wax, or something else.
parker Sep 2017
the cupboard held many things.
the large cabinet sat to the right of drawers full of mystery, climbing the left side and bottom, just big enough to hold small things like paper and office supplies. but it did not hold what most people deemed regular.
the knobs were made of something out of a dream. candy like almost- no,
candy glass. and they paired very well with the midnight brown wood of the cupboard sat in front of them.
the top left drawer held small things. coins and sewing string. the wonderful jingle of coins and the comforting touch of silky yarn drew in the curious searcher. nothing much else sat in this drawer.
the middle one was more unusual than the previous. holding small trophies and metals, why, there were so many! how did they all fit in the shallow drawer? all of them for different things: sports, pie eating, spelling bees, you name it. but the names on the awards were all scratched out. who would do such a thing?
the bottom drawer was sure to hold more promising items. squaring down they open the drawer to find a puzzle. a puzzle with a few pieces missing, but a puzzle none the less. it looked like it was put together right in the drawer, years ago, as the jigsaw was covered in dust. as they try to wipe away the dust, it appears they cannot. the puzzle has no picture, it is merely a grey puzzle, completely grey. how boring! and not even completed! they shut the drawer in confusion and move on.
finally it was time. time for the cabinet. once more the glassy knobs call to them as they open it to see what treasure awaited them. a look of wonder smiles back at them as they open the cabinet, then it drops. a mirror. they were looking at their own reflection! out of all the things it could have been! they turn away from the cupboard, betrayed and upset, and when they turn to look back at it, the
mirror. what was wrong with the mirror? they weren't putting on that face were they? it smiled too wide, and a look of mania shook through the eyes of their reflection. a knife. where? oh wait, no! the smile only grew as the reflection drove a knife into its own neck, velvet blood flowing out as their eyes turned to black, but it felt like staring into the sun. quickly, they slam the door, horrified of what they've seen: their own body mutilated. it felt like something was dying in their chest. but only because it was. a hole sat in their chest where their heart used to sit. it hurt. not much, but it felt like something was leaking out of them. and as they look to find their heart, the realize that it's gone.
quickly and desperately they scour the drawers.
the bottom drawer was first. maybe it was sat on top of the puzzle or the puzzle would give a clue. it didn't matter the reasoning, the drawer was already open and nearly empty except for the missing pieces from before. just as dreadfully grey as the rest of the puzzle. suddenly, the memory leaks out of them. confusion rains down on them as they try to remember where they are, what they're doing, why their chest hurts. the puzzle pieces are no longer grey, but red from the blood pouring out of their chest. why are they bleeding? what are these jigsaw pieces doing here? as they lift it up the red and grey mix, becoming a flesh color, the same as their skin. the pieces fly up and clamp against the hole in their chest, trying to crawl inside. then it clicks, their heart! they kick the drawer shut and the pieces scour across the floor with the deep red of blood, lifelessly. they needed to keep searching! what was the next drawer? ah yes, the middle one!
they always hesitate on the middle drawer. and they hesitate, because they forget what is sat in it. but they think it can't be worse than the last one, right? how foolish they were. they look down and open the drawer and as they see the faux gold and stiff red ribbon they remember. awards. they forgot the awards. suddenly metals of all kind, old and new, bronze and gold, spring up and latch around the throats of their unsuspecting victims. weighing them down as they're choked endlessly. they fall the their knees and the cupboard seems to grow a hundred feet. oh if only they could reach the drawer to shut it! panic runs through their body and the floor sways beneath them, the achievements of others dragging them closer to death and failure, when suddenly the drawer shuts. the metals around their neck (now dented and *****) limply release their grip on their neck as they realize, it was their hand that shut the drawer. it still sat their, burning with grief as they realize, they shut down someone else's achievements. they rub their hands to try to shake off the regret, lingering in their mouth and hands. or was that the metallic taste of blood? when did they start bleeding? then, they get an urge. it pushes them up, up to where the top left drawer is. everything inside them says no, but the regret and pain in their finger tips needs to know what's in the last drawer, needs to feel more pain to replace the guilt. more pain than was already emitting from the hole in their chest and their bleeding hands. more.
as they desperately reach inside the top left drawer again for anything lovely at all, they're left with nothing but pain. as the sewing needles ***** at their fingertips so too does the feeling of greed. the feeling to need money. the elegant cupboard seemed to whisper, "money is everything, you are nothing without money. money is everything, you are nothing without money." over and over again. and in horrifying agony they close the last drawer, the last of they wonder that once filled their body: drained. they step back from the cupboard and it's viscous ways. and glance at the handles again. the very knobs that lured them in.
then, they realized the knobs were not candy like, but more similar to the glazed eye of a man found dead, or of an abusive father, drunk again. they were cold to the touch like the abuse of a mother and spat acid that burned like the tears falling down their face as they realized, the tears were real.
they close the drawers and release their hands in horror as they vow to never touch those nightmarish handles again, running away in fear to realize, they never found their heart. their run turns into a stumble until the suddenly slump over against a wall. the only thing they can think about is the pain, the tears, the cupboard, the drawers, the cabinet, their reflection. and just like that, they're gone.
parker Sep 2017
silicon kids.
with their plastic smiles and rubber souls,
they walk,
overdosing on oxygen and melting at the night sky.

silicon kids.
caged up hearts and metal minds,
lips full of fibs and fingertips full of light,
they escape.

silicon kids.
their fire eyes and typewriter feet,
cloudy chests masking emotion,
they hide.
  Sep 2017 parker
g
we are the wild youth.

with lungs full of ocean water and ribs stained red with sunsets and roses

we have lilacs and honey dripping from our frozen fingertips

with watermelon smiles and candle wax eyes, we pull at our star dusted skin

and howl to the moon.

and with heads full of midnight and our veins swimming in twilight,

we dream our big dreams and pull down the stars, begging for our wishes to

come true
thank you for the daily! im so thankful and in awe of all the lovely feedback, i cant thank you all enough

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