"sleeved" poems
A graceful water weaving dolphin
swirls wakes of gentle waves -
a white, silver blue phantom
shimmering in the noonday sun.
Piercing the surface,
she dances an aquatic ballet
of corkscrew pirouettes
and majestic somersaults.
Diving beneath the spray
she churns her engine upward -
soaring through the flaming hoop
to the "oohs" and applause
of a throng of short-sleeved hominids
bleachered beyond the rails.
Plunging into quiet depths,
she lingers for a moment
perhaps to recall the fresh sea air
and the borderless waters
in the golden days before the ships came.
January, 2007
Aug 4, 2013
Aug 4, 2013 at 10:52 PM UTC
Jay.
He was a nineteen year old high school dropout.
He was black.
He wore his hair in dreads.
He had a few nose rings.
He wore gold chains and expensive clothes.
He went partying every night.
He got drunk on alcohol but his drug addiction was the biggest problem.
He had a lot of friends.
Because he was ‘cool’.
He was the ‘man’.
Gray.
He was 18, finishing his final school year.
He was white.
He wore his hair very short.
He had large round glasses, sitting lopsided on his nose.
He wore a long sleeved shirt and trousers.
He studied hard, and he got good marks.
He played the cello in the school band.
But he was gay.
And so he didn’t have any friends.
But he had his family who he loved dear and who loved him back.
He was happy.
The differences between the two are unbelievable.
They are nothing alike; they are complete opposites.
Yet, they are human.
They walk the same streets, at different times.
They both live on the same planet, if not the same world.
They both have a right to live.
They both have people who love them, despite all they are.
It’s their differences that make Jay and Gray human.
Both of them.
Until Jay raised his gun and fired three times at Gray.
That’s when Gray was lost to humanity.
And Jay had lost his humanity.
Coz Jay shot in the chest a boy named Gray
Killed him without giving him any say,
The boy who did no wrong, but was gay,
With his life, he had to pay.
His family cried in despair and dismay,
For their loving son had been taken away,
And now they all sat in silence,
For Gray would never see another day.
For souls who have had their lives ripped apart, and those who rip their lives apart, we pray.
Jul 18, 2018
Jul 18, 2018 at 11:59 AM UTC
long hair cut short.
apology after apology.
jackets often worn,
if not, sweaters or
long-sleeved tops.
anti-social,
not because
i hate people,
but i fear they hate me.
isolation in my bed,
sometimes,
panic attacks
in the bathroom.
constant overthinking,
whether 3 am or 3 pm.
scribbles thoughts
into poems,
but hides them.
pushes away,
even though i want
to pull them closer.
Jul 27, 2017
Jul 27, 2017 at 9:44 AM UTC
she had a heart that
could light up the sky
she had a smile that
would brighten the gloom
on a winters morning
but she hid her beauty
beneath scarves and
long sleeved shirts
she didnt show off that
beauty until
he told her what
she had
that day she learned
that not every
thing is judged by
the outside.
italic c.s
May 28, 2013
May 28, 2013 at 4:55 PM UTC
(For Timothy)
Twas a short poem I was reading...
I had started writing my comments, when...
A very strange feeling rushed through me.
With very strange thoughts:
"This... has exactly happened before...
This poem, I have read before...
Written these very same thoughts before!"
Over and over, I blinked...I had to make sure...
But, all at once, one brief moment...
I found myself seated beside a grand piano,
By a wide ostentatious stairway,
In a bright, candle-lit mansion...
But, stranger still, while I was writing,
My eyes strayed to my right,
To a mirror by the wall...
I saw a handsome young man,
With slightly long curly hair,
Wearing a long-sleeved, white ruffled shirt
And a pair of dark pants,
Holding paper and quill,
Looking back at me...
I was staring at myself!
I was holding a paper
Where I had written my thoughts
About a poem titled
"WILT...."
( November 5, 2013/ 2:00PM)
Sally
Copyright 2013
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Dec 18, 2013
Dec 18, 2013 at 1:27 AM UTC
Dear Prince Charming;
Today is the first time I've heard of you!
I'm so excited for the day you'll find me
Then we'll live happy-tedly ever after!
Dear Prince Charming;
Today is my nine-eth birthday
I hope I get you next year!
Then I'll have someone real to play with
Dear Prince Charming;
Today is a scary day
Daddy isn't smiling at Mommy
You have to promise
to always smile at me okay?
Dear Prince Charming;
Today it's been 4 years since I first heard of you
Mom and Dad aren't speaking anymore
I need a friend
Dear Prince Charming;
Today Dad left the house
I can hear Mom crying in her room
Don't ever leave me okay?
Dear Prince Charming;
Today I found out that my friends hate me
You won't hate me right?
They said I'm fat and an orphan
Dear Prince Charming;
Today the kids at school tripped me
I suppose accidents happen
When will you be here?
Dear Prince Charming;
Today I wore a long sleeved shirt to school
No, don't worry, it isn't cold here
The kids at school hate me
Dear Prince Charming;
Today is my 16th birthday
Will you be here soon?
I think I need a friend
Dear Prince Charming;
Today Mom and Dad are finalizing their divorce
You won't give up on me,
Will you?
Dear Prince Charming;
Today I'm staying with Dad
He has a special friend over
Don't forget to come find me
Dear Prince Charming;
Today I've been told that you won't find me
That's not true right?
It's very lonely
Dear Prince Charming;
Today I slept through school
I just couldn't find a reason to get up
Reach here soon
Dear Prince Charming;
Today is already tomorrow because it's midnight
If you're close by please let me know
I need you
Dear Prince Charming;
Today I know you're not real
But I wish you were
Who else would love me in this cruel world?
Dear Prince Charming;
It's 2am and everything is looking darker than before
I can't stop crying
Please be real
Dear Prince Charming;
I don't know who you are
I don't know if you exist
But I love you
Dear Prince Charming;
I couldn't wait for you anymore
So I hooked up with the guy next door
I don't like him
Dear Prince Charming;
I'm still wearing long sleeved shirts
The mirrors are broken
I need you
Dear Prince Charming;
Today is my 18th birthday
I'm sorry
You need to find a new princess to love
Dec 29, 2013
Dec 29, 2013 at 1:31 PM UTC
Like Severus and Lily,
We came to each other by chance.
I transfigured myself into your life
Already on a pedestal,
Our words chaining ourselves
To each other
Until death.
Years have passed
Without so much as a flicker between us
But here you stand
Today
With the words of our pasts
Strung together and hanging like frayed ropes from your wrists.
In my dreams you come to me
With your hand outstretched,
A snake burrowed into the cuff
Of your long sleeved,
Blue-collar work shirt.
I do not hesitate to take it.
I am bitten.
I wake up in a cold sweat,
The snake of men past
Now burrowed next to me
In the king sized bed.
I am not afraid
But I do not trust.
Jan 16, 2017
Jan 16, 2017 at 1:56 AM UTC
(a second time posting)
T'was a short poem I was reading...
I had started writing
My comments,
When...
Along came a very strange feeling,
With very strange thoughts:
"This... has exactly happened before...
This poem...I have read before...
Written these very same thoughts before!"
Over and over, I blinked... had to make sure...
But, all at once... one brief moment...
I found myself seated beside a grand piano,
By a wide ostentatious stairway,
In a bright, candle-lit mansion...
But, stranger still, while I was writing,
My eyes strayed to my right,
To a mirror by the wall...
I saw a handsome young man,
With slightly long curly hair,
Wearing a long-sleeved, white ruffled shirt
And a pair of dark pants,
Holding paper and quill,
Looking back at me.
I was staring at myself!!!
I was holding the paper,
Where I had written my thoughts,
About a poem titled,
"....WILT...."
Sally
Copyright November 5, 2013
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
::::::
Below is Timothy's poem,
the reason for my "Deja Vu."
WILT
The wilting of the flowers;
Ephemeral bubble bursts;
The last grains of sand run out;—
I wilt just like flow'rs.
~Timothy~
Dodoitsu.
© Timothy 30 July, 2013.
Mar 3, 2017
Mar 3, 2017 at 9:17 PM UTC
So pure so innocent
Yet you kept him behind closed doors
Authorities don't know he existed
He cried and your head hurt
Maybe you're mad
You were meant to protect him
Like any mother with a newborn
Its like he wasn't yours
But when she cried
Your heart hurt
Ran your hand across his cheeks
Pressed your palm on his lips
Conceived in hate
Made him feel less than
And today he should have been
4 years old
Not a rotting corpse
I wish I could take his pain
And dissolve it
What if somebody noticed?
The cuts on your arms
Constant tugging down
Long sleeved tops
And the prescriptions
That you weren't fit
Mental illness
What if the health officials
Did their job properly
Visited your house
And gave him safety
Policies and practices
Intervention and prevention
Something should have been done
Somewhere
Something
Someone
Went wrong
Feb 12, 2014
Feb 12, 2014 at 6:10 PM UTC
forget the drugs. yeah, they’re going
around and yeah, they’re pretty
dangerous, but they don’t take as many
lives. stop searching kids’
lockers and start looking for the deeper
stuff, the things that leave heavier
inflictions. yeah, i
know it’s nearly one
hundred degrees outside, and
there’s girls in here wearing
long sleeved sweaters. they’re
hiding something more
sinister, something
that can’t be measured in
kilos.
May 25, 2014
May 25, 2014 at 10:54 AM UTC
I saw her there beside the sea,
the way she laughed at it
like the sea spoke to her
as it washed the sand tickling her feet
she looked at me
not how most people look at each other
but with shy eyes
asking me to join her
I sat there beside her
she covered her hands with her long sleeved shirt
took my hand and put it against the wet sand
"the sea has felt every feeling there is to feel, give away the pain you've been forced to feel, it will sink it in away from you, wait for it," she said
I knew at that moment she was my destiny,
but is she real
Jun 18, 2018
Jun 18, 2018 at 11:29 AM UTC
let's go back to basics
i'll punch you in the face
i'll rip out your hair and eyes and teeth and use them as jewelry around my sleeve
oh how much i love you! every part of yourself you've given me! your brown eyes and bleached teeth - you make me look so chic!
i don't care that your veins and enamel and sticky hair styling products are ruining all my long-sleeved clothes
i'd rather wear you now and save my expensive jewelry for more formal and important events -
my heart's made of gold
Jun 14, 2012
Jun 14, 2012 at 12:25 AM UTC
Ready the washcloth and the drying mats.
Turn the faucet on to hot and let the water flow.
Pour blue soap onto each glass and fork;
Onto every dish and bowl.
I’m searching for the courage to do the family dishes.
To roll up the sleeves of a long-sleeved shirt under a simple tee.
To show my scars to myself and maybe to the water.
Doing dishes home alone, finding courage to face myself.
Dec 11, 2015
Dec 11, 2015 at 4:58 PM UTC
Zebra-striped cushion covers on soft-white chairs,
cream topped calorie delights, inviting -
this patisserie in Nairobi:
"you're welcome" the smartly outfitted
African girl spoke in flawlessly accented English
as I pore over the menu - a posh girl
dressed in haute denim and a sleeved top
walks in and spoke French in pouted lips
as she found her corner spot, reading;
an Asian couple walk in, wife in hijab
and baby in tow, as the man sneers at me and
answers 'assalamu alaikum' on phone
as I ponder on identity when
the French matron in Yoga tops walks in
saying namaste to me, and calls out for Henry -
her outfitted and bespectacled pomeranian
oh don't we all want to be someone else
Jun 4, 2016
Jun 4, 2016 at 10:45 PM UTC
For years, longing long years
I mourned my smooth, young honey-hued, freckle-filled summers.
My tears, pander-eyed tears
Trickled down the furtive, long-sleeved, camouflaged decades.
I hoped hopeless hopes
That the pallid,white-lashed jig-saw stranger in the mirror should leave.
My fears, shadowy fears
Multiplied, forming stark splashes across the carefree canvas of my psyche.
Resigned, and re-designed
The pattern of my life became cheery-faced denial-by-self-tan.
And there, just where despair
Had me in its mottled, stubborn, white-knuckled, piebald grip
The long, long, longed-for thing
Occurred – showering my bleached body and soul with golden shards of joy.
The white, bright white
Which blighted my confidence and leached the tones from my being
Is going, going, gone
And I am once again becoming who I always so secretly and subcutaneously was.
I’m me… I’m free
And blissfully, gratefully, ecstatically aware that the final letters of my life’s curse are…
... "I GO"
Vitiligo © October 2011 Vitiligo Protocol
Nov 14, 2013
Nov 14, 2013 at 2:11 PM UTC
Absentminded speech.
You had taken the scissors from the basket
in the darkroom, they were just
still in your hands, the ones
not covered in rust.
It was absentminded, that part
is important. Just absentminded,
like the way you'd play
with her hair or pretend not
to care,
like the way you'd talk with
your hands even when the
darkness spoke louder. The way
you'd nudge me, a "don't move"
elbow, to let me know you'd
dropped your film and I shouldn't
step for fear of stepping on it
like the shadows did.
I absentmindedly twirled a pen,
and you absentmindedly looked
down again and again,
scissors open, scissors closed,
running your fingers over
the little ***** between the blades
as I ran my fingers
over a little ink drawing I'd made.
You absentmindedly followed
my eyes with your own, and then
threw absentminded to the smoke,
up and out the window and gone,
and the smooth blade up and down
your arm.
It wasn't sharp. It couldn't even
cut the film. That's how you'd
dropped it in the first place.
Still watching my eyes, my dawning worry.
Oh, you. Ignorance reduced me
to child and pity before your
knowing eyes, but what do.
You know me, I know you.
A deliberate story now (absentminded
can't be filtered out of the smoke anymore),
of a girl you used to know.
Something to do with little screws
in every pocket of every
long-sleeved shirt she owned.
They had to be from something cheaper,
you mused. Mindedly.
Scissors don't come in bulk.
Little screws. Not razors, not knives.
Little screws.
You thought out loud, but it wasn't
thought. It was speech. It was
words you already knew.
Where'd they all come from?
You asked questions to give me
the answers.
I reached out for those ****
bright green plastic scissors
that wouldn't cut a piece
of film in a darkroom, because
fear gives light great powers.
You smiled at the anxiety in my
eyes. You chose then to stumble
upon the answer. (It wasn't scissors.)
To relieve me, you meant.You
meant to share without telling,
to lighten my head and dissipate
the ignorance like your
absentminded smoke.
You knew a girl...
But when you put knowledge
in this mind it gets picked up
and circled around and around,
centripetal acceleration, exponentially
flying, so fast, so high, what do I
do with it there. I build it up.
It tears me down.
I scanned your wrists for months.
I watched you pull your wallet out
of your pocket, checking the floor for
little screws.
You knew, ****** You knew
your wrists would stay smooth
as a scissor blade, smooth as
darkness. You gave me the story
deliberately, but you gave me the
answer absentmindedly.
You didn't mean to.
You gave me the worry,
you gave me the thought.
You didn't tell me where to find
a ******* screwdriver.
Dec 25, 2013
Dec 25, 2013 at 11:22 PM UTC
conceited and overconfident of knowledge, but, poorly informed and immature
embodying the definition, I lie in bed, quiet, thinking,
face down, shirtless, in a pair of cheap purple *******
breathing in a smell--cotton sheets, sweat, and coconut
I am not nothing, not miserable, but not happy
I am not frightened or bewildered by anything
I am an elder amongst the young
I'm a youngster still, to everyone.
all trash talk,
not new news.
I just sort of quietly revel in the experiences
unravelling above me in a floating memory
adding up my mistakes,
until all pressed into me
+ that doing the right thing hurts, sometimes,
+ people are going to do things that you can't
and still that's okay, but don't get discouraged
if you work hard and get nothing out, that just
means something, that if you like it, fight for it
I don't know.
I also learned this year not to trust the bad liars,
that sometimes people are bland, but even still,
it doesn't mean death, and it's really going fine.
I learned this is as smart as I'm going to get,
so maybe I should try a little harder with it.
turning on my back, I flick an imaginary cigarette,
I put on a little blush + a long-sleeved black shirt
then I did what I was supposed to, maybe for me.
May 23, 2013
May 23, 2013 at 8:44 PM UTC
she had a heart
that could light up the sky
she had a smile
that would brighten the gloom
on a winters morning
she had the laugh
that could remove all your worries
she had the will
To stand up for what is right
but she hid her beauty
beneath scarves and long sleeved shirts
covered for everyone not to see
that behind those mask and clothes
is an angel, too fragile for this world
her beauty remained hidden
until i told her what she had
that i appreciated her no matter what
even with flaws that she really never had
on that day she pondered and learned
that not everything is judged by the outside
May 9, 2018
May 9, 2018 at 12:22 AM UTC
You would love me more
if you knew
the things I don't say
love me more
for the tears repressed/unseen
the thoughts that rise
yet fast sequestered,
virus quarantined,
lest infection spread
occasional
moan groan
an Ebola moon June
escapes,
inquiring ears overhear
and ask...
but quick deflected
with a
** hum,
nothing luv,
pushed back into
the hidey hole of opprobrium
and acid reflux
why why
suppress
if loving you better
the net net of it?
this is not the candy coated,
but the coal glow strife
that cannot be
quenched nor
solved with
anti-pain
meds
so put away, aside,
push back inside
you would
love me better
for the sharing,
but love me enough
for the be I be,
let my roughened edged pains,
be buried with my remains
a love unfettered
will place no obstacle
before you
from within me
love me for the man I am,
just the average man iam,
knowing that not knowing all,
not a deceit,
but a reprieve,
what I share,
strained and sleeved,
tho unrelieved,
it is relief
that burdens but,
only me
Nov 1, 2014
Nov 1, 2014 at 11:08 AM UTC
His old mare cantered into to town
The covered wagon followed
A boy's first trip to town alone
He took it in, and swallowed
Penny candy dreams last night
And sarsparilla floats
The ladies' parasol fineries
The men in pinstriped coats
Perhaps a whiskey, what the hell
Today he was a man!
But first the livery stable for Brownie
For oats and a water can.
The .30-30 saddle gun would come with him, of course.
He also grabbed the belted Colt from the pommel of his horse.
The warped board sidewalks led past stores
His worn boots clopped along
He strapped on the .36 Navy Colt revolver
And fastened down the thong
He clopped down to the first saloon
Laid his rifle on the bar
A sporting girl sat next to him
With the unlikely name of "Star"
"A milk for the lady.
Myself as well,
Barkeep, if you please!"
A cowhand howled out raucous laughter,
Flipping up Ms. Star's dress, to well above her knees
"That little pup, he wants some milk
So Star, give him yer ****
I'll bend him over, spank his ***
And then give YOU a treat!"
The young man's vision doubled, trebled,
The shame clear on his face
As tears welled up in big blue eyes
A witness in every soul in the place
"Aw, the little ***** is bawling! WAH!"
The cowhand bellowed out
And all false mirth left his expression
And he gave the boy a clout
The boy just sat and sobbed and watched
As Ms. Star joined in the joke
But cowhand was already 3 bottles in,
In a flash, her nose was broke
Cowhand reached across the boy
To grab that sweet, sleeved rifle
The boy grabbed cowhand's wrist just then
And twisted it just a trifle
A yelp and howl from cowhand's mouth,
"YOU BROKE MY ****** WRIST!
NOW you're ****** you little sprat"
He took a swing, and missed.
Red faced, clumsy, humiliated
He drew leather on the boy
Dead to rights, he had the kid,
He realized, with grim joy
An explosion, a thump, on warped pine floor
Blue smoke curling in the air
Utter, vapid, vacuum silence
Patrons cemented to their chair
The tears were gone from those blue eyes
Blue steel as his gaze fixed
A hole had grown in cowhand's head
The size was .36
Mar 27, 2016
Mar 27, 2016 at 1:18 AM UTC
Your call has been forwarded to an automated voice messaging system. [Katherine] is not available. At the tone, please record your message. When you are finished recording, you may hang up, or press "1" for more options. [Beep]
Katherine, please, pick up the phone. I'm sorry that I keep calling, I know you probably don't wanna talk to me, but please answer. I can't just sit on the sidelines anymore. I haven't seen you smile in weeks, and some days, I don't even see you. I can't approach you without you turning and walking away quickly. You're isolating yourself, and I'm really worried. Please, answer my calls, please talk to-
Are you still there? To end your message, press "1." To continue recording, press "2." To hear more- [Beep]
At the tone, please continue your message. [Beep]
Everyone's talking about it. I've seen posts on the internet, heard people gossiping about it, even the teachers have brought you up. It has felt wrong not having you around, not seeing you doodling in your notebook during class, or walking down the nature paths admiring the trees. Everyone else doesn't seem to feel the same way I do. They know, but they don't seem to care. Maybe that's what made you think that nobody cared.
God, I miss you so-
You will be disconnected in thirty seconds. [Beep]
The funeral was today. I was one of the few from our school who actually came. I tried to give your family my condolences, and I started to choke when your mother began to cry. God, the whole thing was hard; hearing family members tell stories, seeing you lay there motionless. I was happy they put you in a long sleeved dress. I didn't want everyone to see that part of you; not that it matters much, because everyone knows that is how you died.
Everyone left an hour ago. I've been sitting by your tombstone watching the sun fall into the ground. I keep hoping that you are somehow hearing these messages, that you'll call me back any minute. I'm not sure how the cell service is six feet underground, but I'm still hoping. I'll always be hoping. People will be moving on, but all I can do is choke on my words and I yell into a dead girls voice mail.
I'm sorry, Katherine. I'm so so-
You will now be disconnected. Goodbye. [Beep Beep Beep]
...
I'm sorry. This number is disconnected, or no longer in service. Goodbye. [Beep Beep Beep]
Apr 22, 2017
Apr 22, 2017 at 8:07 PM UTC
You're not really a baby, no more than I am an adult at 20.
I'm struggling to find the words to tell you that I understand.
I have been where you are.
I went through those days and nights when it felt like the world was against me.
Oh the nights were worse than the days, nothing like the ticking of a clock to make you feel alone.
Growing up isn't easy, kids at school are cruel and dumb.
I coped the way you're coping too.
Turned my body into a canvas in which I only painted with red.
Hid behind hoodies and long sleeved shirts.
Told mom and dad white lies about my newly painted "artwork".
So I'm not just some concerned family member condescendingly saying that I understand, I actually do.
I have fought that battle, and some days I still do.
I've been stuck in that darkness, felt the need to open myself up to fight my demons.
But baby brother, opening yourself up, painting those canvases will only win battles, and only for so long.
It takes family to really win that war.
Oct 23, 2015
Oct 23, 2015 at 10:59 PM UTC
dense, warm air and sticky grins were prominent during those sunny summer days
tripping over our friends and muffled laughter
grass stained shorts and muddy fingernails
wet, curly locks of dark hair and bare feet squishing against the grass
kids are known to be careless
a big bowl of fresh strawberries is placed onto the plaid blanket spread across the prickly grass blades
and we shoved our hands in quickly to see who could get the huge strawberry in the middle first
some blades of grass stuck right through the blanket and poked our legs hard enough to make it sting but it didnt phase us
neither did our grimy hands as we devoured the delicious fruit.
we were messy kids. the juice dripped down our arms, creating a translucent river of rosy red juice
you licked yours up but i stared at mine, intrigued as the river followed my veins and settled in the crooks of my bent elbow
i couldnt resist slurping it up eventually though
strawberries were always my favorite
several years later it isnt the same
the red river dripping down my arm, following my veins and settling in my bent elbow didnt taste the same as the sweet strawberries of summertime.
the gashes on my arm werent from an intense game of tag with a friend
or from rolling around in the grass too roughly
these gashes were more than just booboos
mommy couldnt kiss these and make them all better
mommy couldnt make them disappear
i couldnt make them disappear
i made them appear
they are here to stay, and not some sticky juices from a summertime delight
they were sticky juices from a wintertime despair.
a twisted mind
a long sleeved hoodie in 90 degree weather
a sad excuse as to why it was a hoodie instead of a t shirt or a tank top
a bit lip to hold back the tears
a friend who tried their hardest, but couldnt notice and brushed it off
a forever tainted mind
whenever someone offers me strawberries
i take them, even if i am filled to the brim or sick of strawberries altogether
because maybe if i overdose on strawberries
my mind will blur
and all the memories of the thick, dark red river of wintertime despair
will all become replaced with strawberry juice
and i will wake up
and it will have been nothing but a fever dream.
Dec 3, 2016
Dec 3, 2016 at 12:23 AM UTC
I know an infant
who came into this world
with a smile on her face
on the eleventh hour
of the eleventh day
of the eleventh month
bringing joy and happiness
to a day of sadness
and there were no tears
no screaming or confusion
just silence
and a look of wonder could be seen in her eyes
she was ready to start this wonderful world.
I know a child
who was the class clown
always ready to crack a new joke
or turn someone's frown upside down
she wished her baby fat would soon go away
but shrugged it off
'cause she knew it would some day
tears were only shed over scraped knees
and mom's soothing words
would set her at ease
no insecurities, no worries
she had her whole life ahead of her.
I know a teenager
who was no longer the class clown
but instead a shy girl
with very few friends still hanging around
she thought she was fat
(even though she was at average weight)
and felt different from the others
still laughing, still smiling
and the tears didn't fall
'til she was alone in her bedroom
but she stayed strong through it all
hoping that life would soon be better.
I know a young adult
who sits alone in class
stressed about choosing a career
for a future that she doesn't want to be a part of
she starves because she's fat
(even though she's below average weight)
wearing long sleeved shirts to hide the scars
that trail up and down her arms
friends mistake her fake smiles as happiness
oblivious to the desperation in her laugh
the façade wears off when she gets home
and her broken heart splits in half
while she wishes that her life would end.
But the thing is...
I know that infant
as if she was born yesterday
and I know that child
as if I saw her on the street an hour ago
and I know that teenager
as if I passed her in the halls today
and I know that young adult
as if she is someone I'll meet tomorrow
They are my past
my present
and my future
they are the person I was
the person I am
and the person I will be
*That girl is me and always will be
unless I find the strength to change reality.*
May 10, 2013
May 10, 2013 at 8:58 PM UTC