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 Jul 2013 little Bird
brooke
Beauty was never
enough because
some people have
deeper problems
(c) Brooke Otto
 Jul 2013 little Bird
sunflower
When you were five years old
And your favorite color was pink,
You wanted to be a princess,
Played with barbies in the sand,
The world was your playground,
And you didn't know how to be sad.

When you were seven years old
And your favorite color was all of them,
You wanted to be famous,
Cried when your Grandmother died,
The world was small,
And you were learning what sad was.

When you were nine years old
And your favorite color was purple,
You wanted to be a rock star,
Read ghost stories with your best friend,
The world was full of possibility,
And you never cried.

When you were ten years old
And your favorite color was black,
You wanted to be alone,
Screamed when your best friend was murdered,
The world was a scary place,
And you never stopped crying.

When you were fifteen years old
And your favorite color was blue,
You wanted to disappear,
Made scars appear on your arm,
The world was no longer happy,
And you faked not being sad.

When you were seventeen years old
And your favorite color was who gives a ****,
You wanted to no longer be alive,
Stared at walls for hours at a time,
The world was your purgatory,
And you didn't know how to be happy.

When you were nineteen years old
And you no longer had a favorite,
You took a gun to your head,
Pulled the trigger,
Your world was no more,
And you felt no pain.
 Jul 2013 little Bird
sunflower
You are the worst kind of monster.
Not the kind that hides under the bed,
Or in the closet,
Or even in the dark.

Because you did not hide.
You lived in my neighborhood,
In the daylight.

Unsuspecting.          Watching.           Stalking.

You watched us for weeks,
Two ten year old girls.
Cataloged every step we took.
Ignorance and innocence blinded us from you,
And our lives were beautiful.
Until you decided to take one.

Ending.          Ruining.          Stealing.

When the news broke,
You hid.
But you did not hide your tracks.
And they found you.
And I was told the truth,
Shes never coming home from that walk.
You stole more than a girl that day.

You stole her innocence,
Her virginity,
And her chance to grow up.
You stole her entire life,
And that was not yours to take.

The court charged you with second degree ******.
But who cares what that really means.
All I know is you will spend the rest of your life
In this cell.
At least it is better than no life at all.

Rotting.          Pacing.          Thinking.

There were crimes you made that day,
That you will never be charged with.
You took more than one life on
March 28th, 2006.
For you have taken my life too.
My innocence.
My happiness.
And my sanity.
And that was not yours to take.

I have not been alive since I was ten years old.
Another life you stole,
But one that you cannot be punished for.
For I am

Rotting.          Pacing.          Thinking.

Over that day too.
I relive those moments every day.
And what gave you the right
To take our lives?

You are the worst kind of monster.
You did not come from a horror movie,
But you do reside in my nightmares.
Actual letter to be sent to Daniel Johnson on my eighteenth birthday.
 Jul 2013 little Bird
sunflower
Her pale and cold fingers
Gripped the ends of her sweater
Tighter
Tighter
As their words ever so slowly
Tore her apart.

Later that night
Her head will drop
Slowly
Slowly
Down as she stares
At the empty bottle of pills.

She has found her way out of the labyrinth.
 Jul 2013 little Bird
sunflower
There is a girl you will see at 8 a.m.
Drinking her morning coffee.
She will wear flowers in her hair
And never stop smiling.
Happy.
She will be happy.

Did you know,
Only one-tenth of an iceberg can be seen.
All the rest is under the water.
Hidden.

Did you know,
This is the girl
At 8 a.m.
Happy.
Only one-tenth.
Hidden.

Because
There is a girl you will not see at 1 a.m.
Choking down her sleeping pills.
She will hold a razor blade in her hand
And never stop crying.
Sad.
She will be sad.

But you will never see sad,
For sad hides in the dresser
With the razor blades and pills.

And she will struggle to be awake at 8 a.m.,
Dissolve her pills in her morning coffee.
She will pick daisies and put them behind her ear
Because they were her mother's favorites.
And she will smile
Because she does not know what else to do.
She will force the word into her mind,
Happy.
Happy.
You will be happy.
I smile again at the mirror
It doesn't smile back as usual
Hate my reflection today
Something is really wrong
What's with my face?
My eyes?
The same eyes I have
My nose?
Exactly the same
My cheeks?
Hmm... smooth
My lips?
Sweet still
So why didn't you smile back?
Mirror.. mirror... do tell...
Tell me the truth..
It hurts if you lie..
oh what? my forehead?
Oh no...two ugly lines
Thank you... reality hurts
I swear not to smile again....
aging is painful...
wrinkle hurts
 May 2013 little Bird
Sasha Scarr
Those veins in my hands,
they show that I work.
These scars on my face,
show I've endured hurt.

My rank remains low,
so  continue to fight.
I must work to achieve --
for the rest of my life.

My muscles protrude,
as they pass, they see.
My work isn't taken
seriously.

Men & women gather,
they stand behind me.
We call ourselves Feminists,
they label us "crazy".

We liberate ourselves,
our minds and bodies.
For like-minded people,
awaken from the faulty.

Our thirst for empowerment has never changed,
our roots are thorough -- where they remain.
I'm given the strength to survive every day,
I live guiltless & unashamed.
If this gets 100 reactions or 1,000 views, I'll do a video for you guys.
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