She picks up a pen,
a whirlwind of words fly around her head.
Her stories are written but not really read, as she plants her special words in her book.
She pulls her little book closer, as people are wondering why, she sits there and scribbles every day and every night.
Her throat swells and her anxiety kicks in, as worry pumps around her within.
She wonders what they'll think, is she weird? But she continues her poems with everything unknown.

When I was a kid,
And I mean when I was a kid
I had a dream
It was a very profound dream,
You'd never think a mere kid could even have these thoughts

Over the years this dream just dissipated into dust
After a while there wasn't even dust
It had become a forgotten memory
Force subdue harsh punishment for existing
Until even the forgotten forgot it

Before long it had began to crumble
As it finally understood that it would never see the light of day again
That it would forever soak in the pitts of hell
Falling apart then burning to ashes
So in a dark corner it sat

Not that there was a light to began with
It cried in sorrow hoping that it would get lucky and be saved
That even possibly the forgotten remembered it
Days, months, then years past
And still it sat in a dark corner burned to a crisp

It comes to prove that even dreams have dreams
A desire to be simply fulfilled
Is that too much to ask
To be complete
And die only to be reborn in another kid

if you pay eighty cents for a lover
don’t be shocked when he doesn’t call
his life doesn’t depend on it
and neither should yours
don’t be upset by the blank stare in his eyes
his supports aren’t deep enough and anyhow
all he’s known is hell
and soon enough it’s all that you will think
your weary heart has ever chanced upon as well
don’t be surprised by the rough feel of his lips
his countenance
those weathered hands have gripped more weapons of the body and mind
than you’ll ever need to know
and someday it will remind you of the way you
sometimes hold a pen
like it holds catharsis instead of ink
he’s known more causes of pain than
all the days you’ve lived alone
and you think you know depth
you’ve hardly covered your toes
wringing your hands like they’ll give you answers
like they’ll cast off the shadows that live in you now
sweet release is not for people like you
and you should know that by now.

-*k.c.

here's to the kids who skip school
not to drink
not to smoke
not for ***
not as a joke
here's to the kids who skip school
to take care of a sibling
to take care of a parent
to help pay the bills
to feed empty mouths