Pretty
Pretty.
What does it mean to her?
Since the beginning time, she was always told she was pretty,
But at one point that little girl began to question
If what she was told was a lie.
Everybody seemed pretty,
But her.
She was no longer the “You should sign her up for modeling” girl.
She became “Oh, she’s ….. tall”
Or “Wow, you’re big! Oh I mean big for your age.”
When the “pretty” faded, so did her spirit.
The omnipresent smile was gone,
As well as her joy.
She became her mother’s nightmare
Moody,
Sensitive,
Irritable,
Argumentative.
She covered up her self-destructive insecurities with faux confidence and
“No really, I’m fine”
Just as if one covers up their unsightliness
With aggrandize grand eyes, cheeks and lips
No one ever knew that underneath all the bravado
There was still a little girl,
Who seemed grown physically and sometimes mentally,
Longing for someone to tell her she’s pretty.


Incorrect.


This little girl was waiting to tell herself she was pretty
And believe it.

We had recovering drug addicts come in
Talking to us with their sunken
Ashy eyes
And sweaty palms
You could tell they were nervous by the
Way they carried themselves
Cinder blocks and
Broken piano parts
And their pasts
All clinging to them,
For life support
They talked about how easy
It was to let gravity eat you alive
As you are falling into a black pit
You can’t stop the falling
Their wings were bound to
Pseudo lovers who
Gave them bruised arms
And blue fingers.
If you are lucky enough to
Escape the clenched hands of
Addiction,
The rest of your life will
Be a walking tightrope act
Trapeze dancers
One slip and you are falling
Even faster
Harder than before.
And your family, friends,
Everyone you have ever known is
In the audience watching you
Fall into your premature grave
And there is nothing they can do
But tell you to fly
But you cant
Because you just love your
Mistress too much
To ever let her go.
And they warned us about
How hard it might be to say no
To not let the circus come into
Town, but if you do
Only you can pack up the
Lions, clowns,
Colorful balloons.
Someone asked them if they
Believe drugs should be legalized
And he responded with
If I walk into a gas station
And see drugs for sale I will
Not be able to hold myself
Upright.
But I also do not want a government
Establishment to tell me what I can
And cannot ingest into my body,
So I don’t know.
Newton’s First Law of Motion
States that something will keep moving
Unless some force acts upon it.
And once you start drugs
Or gambling
Or skipping meals
it will progressively
Worsen in time.
Festering in bloodstreams
Until you decide to stop it.

I did not die.
I am in the wind.
Breathe me in,
fill your lungs.
Release me to the sky.

I did not die.
I am here.
Feel my touch.
It is for you.
Give me a try.

I did not die.
For I was never alive.

Here I am, trying to convince the world,
trying to convince you,
trying to convince myself, that
I am fine.
A three-word sentence that hides the pain;
not from oneself but from watching eyes.
My troubles stack one on top of the other
forming a skyscraper that burdens me.
Each day it grows bigger and taller
until it collapses
as did the towers on 9/11,
as it does right on top of me.

will you come with me
come make believe with me
come make believe that we
are happy.

paint a smile
like a clown
paint a smile
cover your frown
paint a smile
on your lips
paint smiley faces
on dead crypts.

arrange my limbs
any way you please
bend my elbows
straighten my knees
make me
happy.

you must come with me
come make me happy
you will see
you will believe
me
you'll be
better
lies make you
better
i
should
know
i put on
a great show.