aanika;
I envy you.
you've loved and hurt and broken too many times to count, and yet you smile in pictures and turn heartbreak into something beautiful.
the sky is bleeding and you fall fall fall while keeping his face as close as possible.
I'm insignificant. a wide-eyed child with a hole in my fabric and a swollen lip.
I walked down to the local school today. I talked to god and mused, thinking of angles and unsympathetic remarks. I climbed on the twisted ladder and tried to swing backward, to feel the fog beneath my eyelids and glean hope from the woodchips.
I fell.
I fell and lost hope, curling into the fetal position and crying because who wants to love a naive girl who brandishes a hemorrhage and obsession with beauty?
I'm going to trust you with a poem.
It's about the man with closure and the baby he abandoned. It's about how she feels and cries and begs god for some idea of why.
(why did he leave me?)
It tells of acceptance, and the ripping of scars, of suicide and pain and
love.
first the worst.
maybe that elementary anthem for footraces home and imaginary racecars still rings true. maybe this firstborn is doomed to inadequacy.
and I call myself an optimist.
always second best, she talks to the mirror, talks to herself. she muses on the topic of suicide, knowing the guesture is futile. she could never exact the death blow, whether with gun or razorblade or noose, knotted in the rafters.
she laughs and obsesses over art and language and a boy whose eye-color is unknown. she talks to strangers and lives with a backward sense of doom. she is a fourteen year old basket case, hearing voices and crying too often.
too shy, too slow, too smart, too weak.
a self-declared outcast, she worries and namecalls, commiserating on the confining borders of quaint country towns.
here's to the death of innocence.
here's to restlessness and
compromised hope.
trust has never been this wary.
faith has never been this strong.
I can breathe again.
thank you.
love;
highbeams.
Author notes
kind of a combination of both options.
thank you, this was really cathartic.
hope you like it.
f i n g e r t i p s .
A contest entry
- write me a letter, yeah. by aanika.
1998 points, ended July 5, 34 entries
Bronze trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest - for my favourites only; give me prewrites. by alaska..
1100 points, ended July 6, 16 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
be harsh.
Comments
1 - 12 of 12
-
should be spelled 'hemorrhage' hun :]
as for this.. you did so well with this dear, and it was a lot more open than i had expected. so many flashbacks for me whoa, and the raw feel of it was enthralling. thank you for sharing
-
-
thanks for catching that. :] i've been having spelling issues lately. XD
-
-
I loved this. (:
Hahaha.
Your imagery is fucking stunning.
-first the worst.
maybe that elementary anthem for footraces home and imaginary racecars still rings true. maybe this firstborn is doomed to inadequacy.
and I call myself an optimist.-
that is so heartbreaking.
I loved this whole thing. I knew there was a reason I had you on my favourites.
thanks for entering and good luck. -
gosh do you know i've read this over and over and over since you first entered it??
i lovelove this
a wide-eyed child with a hole in my fabric and a swollen lip
that line got to me. i don't know why. -
wow. fucking beautiful. i am so jealous. your letter totally beats my poem off the planet, let alone the same contest. i repeat; wow.
-
oh my god.
okay, so you're probably going to be a finalist (which means i'll be writing you a letter back) so if i write a long detailed comment (which i'd love to do because this is fucking gorgeous) then i'll have nothing to say in my letter.
just know that i love this, and you.
<3 -
-
thank you, that means a lot.
-
-
this is gorgeous. i loved the imagery. :]
-
This is just gorgeaus and so so so beautiful! wow, all of it was so amazingly written
-
wow.
-
oooh.
-
-
thank you.
-
Adding your comment:
1 - 12 of 12
