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Francesca Dec 2024
Three dinner mats are placed,
Carefully laid, evenly spaced.

A candle lit warmly,
The ironic sense of home in a way.

Cutlery shining, stating its place,
Though one seems to have been erased.

They're four people,
In this place called home.

The candle was not lit for me,
Bright, present but unknown.

Yet you say its best to leave me alone,
For i am damaged, very unknown.

So I linger, as they're three dinner mats instead of four,

Maybe in another life you will notice me some more.
Katie Elzinga Nov 2014
Porcelain skin,
white with rosy cheeks.
Lips sewn shut,
concealing her shrieks.
Knotted hair,
with pink pretty bows.
Smiling mouth,
lips red as a rose.
Eyes open,
staring at blank space.
Pretty dresses,
covered all in lace.
Broken teacups,
will soon fall apart.
Never revealing,
her lack of a heart.
Perfect girl,
with an alluring complexion.
Fails to see,
her and her reflection.
Flawless,
you can’t see her cracks.
Scarred,
only seeing whites and blacks.
Collecting dust,
sitting on a shelf.
Contemplating,
life itself.
A poem I wrote for school, let me know if you like it? I also don't know what to put as a title so feedback on that would be helpful (:

— The End —