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They asked me this question in class one day

"What do you want to be remembered by?"

I wrote down the answer of what they wanted to hear

But to be honest

I just want to be forgotten
So no one has to hurt when I say
goodbye
My father walked me down the aisle,
But my mother held my arm.
He went with me,
But we went not towards the altar,
But towards the door.

My father walked me down the aisle,
And the ***** rang through the church,
Humming through the elaborate crown molding,
Carved by my ancestors.

He went,
Not beside me,
But before me,
And I watched,
As he was illuminated by the bright,
Overbearing,
Texas sun.

My father walked me down the aisle,
But I did not wear white.
My father walked me in silence,
And I shed tears not for a man standing at the altar,
But for the one I would never see again.

My father walked me down the aisle,
And no veil obscured my face.
All eyes were upon me, but not for my pristine beauty,
Instead for my clenched jaw and furrowed brow,
Severe and fierce to distract from my glassy eyes.

My father did not leave me at the end of our walk to sit beside my mother.
She clung to me for support and sobbed breathlessly,
Loudly,
Unavoidably,
And I carried her with one hand,
My sister the other,
And walked towards my future.
A future family,
Not one person more,
But one person less.
I walked,
One final time,
With him.

My father walked me down the aisle,
And I will never forget it.
Hundreds of eyes isolating my family from the crowd,
Slow and muffled sounds drowning in the deafening beat of my heart,
Blurred faces staring,
Black heels clacking against the cobbled path from the church,
The anguished wails of my mother,
The whimpering of my sister,
And the wooden box that glided before us,
Pulling,
A string tied to our patriarch,
The pin key of our family,
Pulled taut and then snipped with the slam of the hearse doors.

My father walked me down the aisle,
Before I had a chance to grow up.
He walked me,
Out of the church,
Away from the altar,
Never to be walked again.
Live long enough
and we end up alone
No matter our fortune
no matter our throne

Life will have sway
as our journey unwinds
One breath at a time
— our voices unrhymed

(Augustinian Seminary: July, 2025)
demanding with your eyes
out for blood, violent red
but I know, deep down?
all you want is someone
to meet your gaze, and keep it.
 20h lana
Mira
the moon
 20h lana
Mira
i wish to be as
beautiful as the
moon

it's light a beacon
a pale silhouette
magical

i wish to be as
beautiful as the
moon

for the moon cares not
for admirers or
fame

it glimmers eternally
in the dark
midnight
oh to be as beautiful as the moon!
I set at the edge of the bed
with a blue floral spread

waiting

for the sun to blush
the sky

as the minute hand on the wall clock
quivers

the ice bucket
sweats

and breakfast  

will be soon
but is it really breakfast

if you haven't slept
 20h lana
Star
Ugly ugly girl
You try so hard, but it never works
You paint your face to make it clear
You wear lashes so your eyes are big
And line your lips so they look full
You even try to fix your nose
The curl in your hair is to match your face
And the hairspray so it doesn’t go away
Lastly perfume so they say you smell sweet
Yet even with the money you pay
Or the time you spend
Stroking, drawing, blending for perfection
You still seem so broken
Like you’ve always been
It never goes away no matter how hard you try to cover it
Ugly ugly girl
You try so hard but it never works
You will never stop aching to be pretty
So you can be put back together
I was a gifted child. Until I wasn't. I was the golden girl. Until I couldn't burn anymore.
My parents expected me to build wings of gold and fly further than anyone could ever try. I don't blame them, having a child to raise is like sculpting a clay ***, you can shape it the way you like, paint it the color you fancy. To raise a child is to play God. To raise a child is to be God.
But to be a child is to fall, to make mistakes, to fail. The thing about being too bright at an early age means you burn out by the time you're 16 and suddenly the world around you becomes more gray and terribly, terribly lonely. The fire is never warm enough, nothing is ever enough. And one day you find yourself begging to a godless sky, begging for a new spark.

— The End —