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olivia May 4
looking around in a class full of my peers,
some laughing, some attentively listening and waiting, some bobbing their heads to the tune of music.
i look to my left, and say,
when you look at me what do you see?
the words pretty and kind come from her lips
but i cant see it?
all i see is a painting,
almost finished,
then smeared and ripped up,
a beautiful sunset,
covered by a sky of clouds.
beautiful underneath, disappointing on the outside.
what it is to be in a quiet classroom filled with only your thoughts
olivia Jan 20
A firefly,
In the grass
Is like,
A lighthouse,
Shining a golden gleam
On the ocean,  
The waves
Splashing in summer nights,
Amongst one another to cause great fights,
Boats brawl against blue boxing gloves
Tugging its way to shore
this is an imitation poem of: A pinecone by Amy Ludwing
olivia Jan 20
She made me imperfectly.
My buttons and seams.
A flawed creation.
Was all she would ever see.
olivia Jan 20
maybe the wolf is my mother?
running after me in jealousy as my heart pounds to get away,
begging for escape.
i am the lamb,
maybe the wolf is my brother,
chasing me as a child,
his touch frightening and unkind.
I am the lamb,
and maybe the wolf is my father, ripping and biting at my throat so my screams cannot be heard.
i am the lamb,
pure, innocent,
and covered in blood.
for what is left of me,
if the wolf wears my skin.
i edited it a little just played  around with the lines and changed a few words!
olivia May 14
I stare into his eyes in fear
The yellow piercing back into my soul
Waiting,
Wondering,
If it's going to be me who is his next meal
I creep away slowly,
Trying to preserve what humanity he might have left in him,
But he lunges right for my neck,
And for a minute he pauses?
Like maybe he doesn't want to hurt me,
But anyway i feel the trickle of blood down my collarbone.
“Its a primal instinct”
olivia Jan 20
every lie,
is a knife.
cut through the vines we took so long to grow,
like a limb,
severed with no medication
or a bomb,
set for detonation,
patiently waiting,
set to destroy us from the inside out.
olivia Jan 20
Where His Hands Once Lingered
My skin,
   Wrinkle free,
My body,
      Full of life,
Come in from playing outside in the hot summer air,
And I'm welcomed by my brother.
His big brown eyes follow me as I head to wash my hands, “hey you wanna play a game?”
My younger self smiles in excitement as no older brother wants to play with his sister.
I finish washing up to see him sitting in my pink princess tent awaiting my arrival,
His fingers and lips left me colder than ice.
And something entered my body that has never found its way out.
As time goes on I accept this feeling as permanent,
The grubby touch of his hands slid their way from head to toe.

I'm ten now,
I'm happy again,
building a fort with my cousin as he asks me a question.
“Can I see it”
“See what,” I said,
Now I know what he meant were parts of me that were so sacred now and the letters N-O never meant less in his life.
What he wanted was now his.

Years pass and I'm fourteen and I think I have found a guy who respects me and treats me how he should,
His charm was nothing but a disguise.
I invited him over and we shared a drink.
I felt so cool hanging out with a high school boy,
If I had known how he'd leave me it would have never happened.
The roughness on my thigh,
The pounding in my heart,
and this time I think,
I'll fight,
I'll fight to the death as if I'm a gladiator,
As if it were a zombie apocalypse and I was the only one left,
I will protect myself this time.
He explored parts of me,
And I freeze.
freeze,
like a deer in headlights staring at seemingly nothing,
Thinking,
I was going to fight,
I was going to keep what's mine.
My head is screaming and swirling as I wait for this sea of betrayal to wash over.
He climbs back out my creaky window and even though he’s  gone I can still feel the feeling of his calloused palms,
Leaving a neverending blood trail on my body
Invisible scars woven into skin,
where his hands once lingered

Here I am almost 17,
The blood has stained and the scars have healed.
I built a wall between the real me and the version I show others,
Trust is hard and standing in the face of a man I can still feel the way my heart fluttered those nights,
Like maybe,
it's going to happen again,
When I do,
I crawl back to that pink princess tent in my mind and call on my knight in shining armor to save me from these so-called princes.
this is a personal narrative, based on my own experience.-olivia

— The End —