Don't you dare speak those words.
You know exactly what they will do,
and to him.
There will be no more
you and him.
Like the peach blossoms
broken from the delicate, young branches,
the verbal hail storm,
the weight of the ice,
will knock him to the frozen ground.
Unsure how much affection he can return,
of how his own whirling thoughts fit with yours.
Your tale, far from fairy, will end.
Your open heart will shrivel,
like the salty sardines you left on the wooden picnic table
in the burning sun.
You will regret your thoughts and
you will regret your feelings,
but know, sadly, there was nothing left to do,
but leave too soon.
Wounds emptied my veins
Cannot get up at all
Only the rain can mend
Dew drops come
Moisten my skin
Before it desiccates
To be thrown away...
Word for the day: desiccate
I want to shrivel like a raisin
Curl up into a ball
From your rounded little basin (of friends)
Of all the torturers, you're the most cruel
I wish to stand up to you
But my knees are to bruised
For begging for forgiveness
And my lunch money too
But I can't and I shan't
And I never shall
As I'm the weak little girl
Bullied by *all
Note: I have never been bullied. I just wanted to write a poem about it.
— The End —