girls who have eaten glass splinters
shards of self-hate from refracted glances in the mirrors
know what it's like to wait
sitting on the broken back steps
of an alley gray with cigarette smoke
because you aren't going anywhere either.
hands tied behind your back
with the fluid mosaic of insecurity
and the harsh unforgiving light of the sun over us.
mouth gagged with the bitter aftertaste
of fashion magazines and skinny supermodels
and covered with a handkerchief of deprecation.
painting yourself with puffs of air
isn't all it's cracked up to be either
but it's better than hiding under a mask of carbon monoxide.
which is what you're doing now,
brushing mixed hemlock and cyanide in wide swathes over your face
leaving patches of lithium as you go.
because glass splinters have a way of festering
in small invisible lacerations with oozing pus; hidden
but the infection must penetrate somehow.
Author notes
This was inspired by some friends of mine urging me to ask a guy out. I could never do it; this is why. If you don't understand this, that's not my problem.
Painting with puffs of air refers to the practice of airbrushing models on the covers of magazines, for clarification.
A contest entry
- prewrite contest ENTER ENTER ENTER by serenity silvermoon.
569 points, ended February 8, 100 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest - 1000 tr0phies! wh00t! by amaranthine lover.
1750 points, ended February 17, 111 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest - GIVE ME YOUR BEST by sanguigno.
1100 points, ended February 15, 80 entries
Honorable mention
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest - Subtlety and Sublimity by Doug Cavers.
500 points, ended March 2, 16 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
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this was amazing i loved your emotion...sorry its taking so long to judge i have to go threw and read each persons poem...i'm going to announce the winner after i finish reading all of the poems....i loved your vocabulary...and i felt every word:] and good luck
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wow...
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girls who have eaten glass splinters
shards of self-hate from refracted glances in the mirrors
know what it's like to wait
sitting on the broken back steps
of an alley gray with cigarette smoke
because you aren't going anywhere either.
my fav. part. :]
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