Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
4.6k · Jun 2013
Cabin
Eliza Bennett Jun 2013
When I'm a grownup,
I would like a home away from home.

A cabin, perhaps, isolated from the world,
where there would be a lake in my backyard.

Maybe I will also have a treehouse, or a hammock,
where I would read and watch my children play in the water.

Then we would roast marshmallows and make s'mores,
and catch fireflies in the bushes.

My husband would sing silly songs and play his guitar,
and make my children blush with fiery laughter.

When the kids would fall asleep in the bunks,
a cuddle would be awaiting in front of the fireplace.

Where we would watch sappy old movies,
and savor our salty popcorn and sweet milk chocolate.

Together, we would laugh and cry.
Together, we would have escaped the world.
Together, we would have been happy.
633 · Jun 2013
Change
Eliza Bennett Jun 2013
she was joyful
until she grew older
as the world consumed her
she became colder

she was intelligent
she would have gone places
but the pressure overwhelmed her
until she became faceless

she was confident
and exceptionally bright
but the world took her identity
as well as her life
438 · Jun 2013
Gone
Eliza Bennett Jun 2013
The emptiness,
the loneliness,
and the sadness,
hidden under a bed of forced smiles,
will devour your life away.
417 · Jun 2013
I Wish
Eliza Bennett Jun 2013
Sometimes,
I wish that I could control time.
Sometimes,
I wish that I could skip the growing up part of life,
that is so horrible, and painful.
Sometimes,
I wish that I had someone who would always be there for me.
Someone that I would eat sweet chocolate ice cream with at two o' clock in the morning,
as we watch movies that make us feel horrible about our lives,
yet better at the same time.
Sometimes,
I wish that I wasn't lonely.
But sometimes,
especially times like these,
it's the loneliness, the horribleness, and the pain that we go through
that make us who we are, and who we will become.
If only it were easier to listen to my own therapeutic poems.

— The End —