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The little girl’s arm was just long enough to touch the top of the lake. She lay at the end of the pier on her stomach, with one arm and her head floating over the edge. Both feet kicked the air in a steady rhythm. She tapped that same rhythm onto the water, one finger at a time.

thumb-index-middle-ring
pinky-ring-middle-index
thumb-inde­x-middle-ring
pinky-ring-middle-index

The Payne’s gray sky cast a languor over her town, and soon she would be called back inside.

Why was this Friday afternoon so boring?

Within the dark drum in front of her, she saw a glowing fish radiating an orange luminescence. She beamed a smile and waved at the tiny creature.

It swam away. She pouted a tut, but bowed her frown, aware of the wistful fated nature of all things.

She stood up to leave, but before turning she spotted the fish again, in its mighty illumination. She smiled and waved, and as she did the entire lake lit up in a cauldron of flaming fish. They swam around, an oil painting alive right before her eyes. Her hands came up to her wowed cheeks as she laughed with euphoric glee.

And as soon as it had come it went, and only the one gleaming fish remained.

The little girl said thanks, and the fish departed.


-
by Aleksander Mielnikow
Living organisms that illuminate are considered bioluminescent, and it's a fascinating phenomenon. Though glowing fish are more often found in the ocean than in lakes, and they surely don't communicate with little girls... or do they?


If you liked this poem, you'll probably also like "Giggles" and "Dear Daughter of Mine."
Tana F Bridgers Jun 2018
Here is a little girl
With dark lashes
And eight-looped braids
Her limbs as
Thin and white as bone
She’s shivering in the cold
Of her thoughts a
surging, raging ocean, a dark horse.
Her face downturned violently,
As if she had no neck,
She swings with the breeze of
A thousand cold breaths
Her breast cold, as if
She hadn’t any heartbeat.

Here hangs a little girl
The subject of damnation by
A hundred harsh thoughts,
A thousand cold shoulders,
And the godless hell in which she resided.
This is my suicide note.
Lolita Jun 2018
I was a little girl
I was sitting on a bench.
I saw a man claiming
"I have a big thirst to quench".

I looked at him
And gave him a big smile.
He was near me
Not even a mile.

Wrinkles on his face
Starving to death.
I offered him a candy
But he was already on ****.
Just the sort of poems you create when you are staring at the ceiling and wondering what to do with life.
Dallas Apr 2018
Every time I attempt to sit down with my mom and talk about my mental state
She somehow warps the story into the idea that I am simply stressed out because I am not trying hard enough in school
And I sit there and take her words
Shoving them down my throat in an attempt to make them fact
But they do not fit the gaping hole in my chest
Her words are mismatched puzzle pieces trying to portray two different pictures
But she’s not wrong
School is one of the causes of my anxiety but not in the way she thinks it is
I walk into school every day
a new lollipop flavor in my mouth
Hands shoved into pants pockets
A false swagger used as a shield
So they don’t know that I cried myself to sleep last night
I have created the perfect girl
She walks into the room
Smile bold and blazing like the summer sun
A new joke slips past her lips
Causing her classmates to hunch over in stitches
And in those seconds she wipes the remaining tears from when she cried because she looked in the mirror for too long
The girl I come to school as
Has a heart of gold
And her arms wide open to embrace everyone she sees
She holds them close to her chest so they don’t see her cry
She walks into a room
Bold and brash and brazen
Shouting
Look at me I am a star
Look at me I am shining
Why don’t you see me shining?
Notice me
Notice my happiness
Notice my confidence
Notice my high self-worth
I shout and I shout and I shout
All so they won’t notice the cracks and creases on my exterior
This girl that I am from the moment she steps into the building
Until the moment she touches down on her bed
Walks like the world is her runway
Flashes her painted on smile like it's her ticket to happiness
Her skin is stitched together by quirky comments
Corny jokes
And faux vibrato that reverberates in her chest so she can shout my words out to the room as if she is the Queen of the world
The fictional heroine I composed
A character I have created because no one wants to be friends with the girl who dreams of killing herself
No one wants to be friends with the girl who shoves her fist in her mouth at 2:00 in the morning
Hoping to choke down her sobs so she would not bother anyone
No one wants to friends with the other part of me
The one who puts the lollipop in her mouth to block the screams from ripping out her throat
To cease the quivering of her voice
The one who twirls the stick in her fingers so you won’t notice the violent shaking of her hands as she looks for something to hold onto
Something to control
Something to rip
Something to shred
To hopefully not tear out her hairs and huddle into a ball in the corner of the classroom
So she keeps ******* on that stick of comfort
To steady her nerves
To not cry out
Help Me
For this is not their problem
Not their baggage to drag behind them
Her shoulders have become pedestals for her pain
Because it is hers alone to carry
They do not need to see it
I have come to the conclusion that I am a pathological liar
a body snatcher who transforms into the person she dreams of being every ******* day
and you may call this identity theft because she’s not truly me
The little girl that I truly am deep down inside is still afraid of the dark
Still scared of heights
Still petrified of clowns
But she’s even more horrified by the thoughts that run around in her own mind
She’d rather face a thousand killer clowns on the top of Mount Everest in the middle of the night
Than sit alone with her thoughts in her hands
Weeping out the story of a girl who’d rather die than keep breathing half of the time
Tears clog my eyes and blur my vision
I can feel the oxygen slipping out of my lungs
I can feel the heat pool in my chest
I can feel them start to shrivel
Hyperventilation occurs
As I begin to heave my chest outwards hoping to fill this void
I can’t breath
I can’t breath
I can’t breath
I can’t-
I grab a lollipop out of my bag
Fingers quivering like fall leaves
I Rip off the wrapper and throw it into the trash
Just as if it was the little girl
I place its perfect pink roundness between my lips and hold it there
I inhale
I exhale
And I feel the smirk plaster itself onto my face
I sense my eyes flicking to a lighter color
I sit back down at my desk
Twiddle my thumbs
Insert a sly comment into the conversation
And they laugh
They laugh so loud that they don’t hear the cracking of my heart
The little girl is sleeping now
And I foolishly hope
She won’t wake up
Ever
Again
i am beginning to feel as if i am slipping
but i will get through this
Jessie Schwartz Feb 2018
Taken in the Night…by Jessie 8/05

A little town, one football night
A Mother frantic, full of fright
Her child taken in the night…

A shadow embarked upon the town
Its prey lay waiting all around
But it was the little girl the shadow found…

The shadow blended in quite well
Friends and family couldn’t tell
But in his chest, lurked the heart of Hell…

He waited till the time was right
When all the others were out of sight
Then took the girl with out a fight…

She felt quite safe, she knew the man
He held onto her tinny hand
The rest is hard to understand…

The things he did I cannot say
All the lives that changed that day
The people search, the people prayed…

The shadow still walks this restless town
Blending in all around
The little girl never found…

The family hopes, she’ll be home one day
They left a light on, to guide the way
But in her shallow grave she’ll stay…

She is not the first, the shadow took
There are more, once you look
Many family trees have shook…

He’ll strike again I have no doubt
His eyes are peering all about
Is it you, this time, he’ll single out?
This happened in a small town in 2005  while everyone was at the football game
CAM Oct 2017
A scared little girl,
She walked into the room.
She saw the lady,
Sitting at the table.

This was a test.
The table covered in instruments.
She sat down in a chair, across the desk
Picking up the silver flute.

She put her mouth to it and tried to blow,
But the breath flew through with the sound
Of wind on lightly battered silver.
The girl set it down, saddened.

The lady nodded and wrote something,
handing her a slip.
The girl looked down and saw,
The name of the silver flute.
Sorry, just a little story I felt like writing.
Monica Jun 2017
I'm always at the back
Trying to belong but really not
I'm always out of placed no matter what
And it hurts me all the time
I'm always smiling to them
Like I didn't bother their comments about me
But my heart is aching when they're making fun of me
How rude the world to me? No. I should say
How rude those people besides me?
NURUL AMALIA Apr 2017
the world grows older
it's just like me
but when I was younger
I pretended to be doughty
as they saw from the outside
my queen and king let me travel this world
it was the right time
and their hance
I started my stride
left my castle and others
hey it's not easy!
it's not my place, not my home
but sometimes I realized
I'm not their little girl anymore
then I learn how to learn
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