Apr 2016
1) I left a book on her porch and she stole it, skipping through each page. She loves to boast of worlds she lacks the courage to explore.
2) She hates her dad for leaving but when he was home she turned away. She redefined “cold shoulder” and opened up a bit too late. She keeps a tin jar in her dresser of the medals that he wore, she always hated camo but on him it just made sense. I guess the pins weigh down her jacket so they know all about neglect, I hear they talk about it when her headboard plays the drums.
3) People listen to her ramblings, more interested in her lips than what she has to say. Someone should’ve mentioned there’s no real Mirror on the Wall.
4) Every morning there’s a boy. His Converse vouch for half the markings on the concrete court beside the school, and the bend in the broken hoop spits vengeance at his arms. One day a green Toyota took his parking spot and his black eye picked his brain. When he reached into his bag he chose the gun and not the ball.
5) Someone told me once that wishes wander off. You have to leash them and restrain them or they go picking through your hair. They’ll search under your pillow for a way to tease your dreams but as soon as they stop whispering all you see is black. Maybe the toxins that she breathed in pushed the worst out from her head, but I don’t think she ever had the strength to accept that some will always stay.
6) When we were six she wore the same red shoes every day for a week. The laces were never tied. She left them in the mud.
7) There’s a table in the lunch room that all dated the same girl. They all have different jackets but none know her middle name.
8) She used to walk through mountains and talk about their clothes, but since she’s lost her chapstick her lips don’t care about the heights. Now she drives her green Toyota everywhere she goes, and when the wheels wear down my guess is that she’ll leave it in the mud.
2) She hates her dad for leaving but when he was home she turned away. She redefined “cold shoulder” and opened up a bit too late. She keeps a tin jar in her dresser of the medals that he wore, she always hated camo but on him it just made sense. I guess the pins weigh down her jacket so they know all about neglect, I hear they talk about it when her headboard plays the drums.
3) People listen to her ramblings, more interested in her lips than what she has to say. Someone should’ve mentioned there’s no real Mirror on the Wall.
4) Every morning there’s a boy. His Converse vouch for half the markings on the concrete court beside the school, and the bend in the broken hoop spits vengeance at his arms. One day a green Toyota took his parking spot and his black eye picked his brain. When he reached into his bag he chose the gun and not the ball.
5) Someone told me once that wishes wander off. You have to leash them and restrain them or they go picking through your hair. They’ll search under your pillow for a way to tease your dreams but as soon as they stop whispering all you see is black. Maybe the toxins that she breathed in pushed the worst out from her head, but I don’t think she ever had the strength to accept that some will always stay.
6) When we were six she wore the same red shoes every day for a week. The laces were never tied. She left them in the mud.
7) There’s a table in the lunch room that all dated the same girl. They all have different jackets but none know her middle name.
8) She used to walk through mountains and talk about their clothes, but since she’s lost her chapstick her lips don’t care about the heights. Now she drives her green Toyota everywhere she goes, and when the wheels wear down my guess is that she’ll leave it in the mud.
