Post by dietpepsi on Nov 28, 2011 18:41:53 GMT -5
Walls In The Room
I'm looking right now,
She's crying.
I can hear her mutter
About a boy she loved,
And the girls at school,
How she wasn't like them.
A month ago
She had brought some one to her room.
A boy.
Her boy friend.
Excitedley, the sat on the floor.
They spoke about nonsense.
And stared at eachother.
The boy leaned in
And kissed her.
She could not comprehend
How wonderful this was!
One day she wandered around,
Procastinating a work for school.
She looked at old keepsakes,
From her school days ago.
She blushed at herself
And her own works of art.
Reminiscent and humiliated, she tucked away her things.
She'd look at then once more,
When the assignment due today,
Will be put off till tomarrow.
Some days
She'll stand in the mirror.
Self-conciousand astounded
At her rapidly changing body.
She'd amble and strut;
Strike a provocative pose. Sing along to the radio.
Maybe snap a picture of herself.
Changing her out-fits frequently,
To experiment with leiniency,
With make-up and jewelry
All in the pursuit of artificial beauty.
On other days she would dance
Turn on t songhe radio and sing to every song.
Others, she is not the same.
Sitting on her bed,
And looking out the window
Wondering about the day she had.
And some days, I would not see her at all.
Eight hours of darkness
To stare at the floor.
Sometimes she'll stay up late.
Maybe watch a show about mundane people,
And their extra mundane dates.
Other days,
She's not nearly the same.
Clean a little,
Cry a lot.
Then laugh with meloncholyin her giggles.
And then she would write.
She'd just sit for hours.
Just writing.The acute pounding of her ball point pen
Always seems so soothing.
This is when I enjoyed her the most.
Quietly, she'd stare at me.
For a moment, I thought she knew I was there.
But then scribble her next line of amatuer poetry.
I'm looking right now,
She's crying.
I can hear her mutter
About a boy she loved,
And the girls at school,
How she wasn't like them.
A month ago
She had brought some one to her room.
A boy.
Her boy friend.
Excitedley, the sat on the floor.
They spoke about nonsense.
And stared at eachother.
The boy leaned in
And kissed her.
She could not comprehend
How wonderful this was!
One day she wandered around,
Procastinating a work for school.
She looked at old keepsakes,
From her school days ago.
She blushed at herself
And her own works of art.
Reminiscent and humiliated, she tucked away her things.
She'd look at then once more,
When the assignment due today,
Will be put off till tomarrow.
Some days
She'll stand in the mirror.
Self-conciousand astounded
At her rapidly changing body.
She'd amble and strut;
Strike a provocative pose. Sing along to the radio.
Maybe snap a picture of herself.
Changing her out-fits frequently,
To experiment with leiniency,
With make-up and jewelry
All in the pursuit of artificial beauty.
On other days she would dance
Turn on t songhe radio and sing to every song.
Others, she is not the same.
Sitting on her bed,
And looking out the window
Wondering about the day she had.
And some days, I would not see her at all.
Eight hours of darkness
To stare at the floor.
Sometimes she'll stay up late.
Maybe watch a show about mundane people,
And their extra mundane dates.
Other days,
She's not nearly the same.
Clean a little,
Cry a lot.
Then laugh with meloncholyin her giggles.
And then she would write.
She'd just sit for hours.
Just writing.The acute pounding of her ball point pen
Always seems so soothing.
This is when I enjoyed her the most.
Quietly, she'd stare at me.
For a moment, I thought she knew I was there.
But then scribble her next line of amatuer poetry.