Slipping OutLetting part of the real me slip,
Allowing it out from underneath my expertly designed mask.
Out into the world it flew,
Only to be judged and criticized.
Searching for it everywhere,
To hide it once again and deny its existence.
Strange looks being received in the hall way,
As I dart to my next class.
Wondering how this part of me got out in the open,
Without me even detecting it until it was too late.
This is why it was hidden,
To avoid all of the harsh glances and giggles.
Oh how I want it back so bad,
To act like it never happened.
Your words hurt me more than you would expect,
Those seven words brought me closer to the edge.
"God why are you so fucking sensitive!?",
Now I know that you can never see the real me.
Now I know who I can,
And cannot trust.
Is being sensitive so bad?
Would you rather me be a rock?
It may be my worst feature,
But it is my best worst feature.
And I love it.
It is HerThe way her waist is curvy, and how her thighs curve to meet her hips drives me crazy.
The beautiful little dimples on her lower back and the freckles covering her skin make me insane.
Her lovely dark hair flowing in the wind and that smile upon her face makes me love her more and more.
Those dreamy eyes and cute button nose make me completely lose my mind.
Her body is perfect in every single way. It is her who I want, but cannot have, for she loves another.
The contrast of her ivory skin and blue eyes amazes me.
The way her cheeks and nose blush with the bone chilling wind is lovely.
Her name slips from my mouth, the eternal sin, for which I cannot, will not repay.
Though scars may litter parts of her body, each one tells a story. A story that I long to hear.
Sorrow from the past is hidden deep in her eyes covered up by today's joys, and they fill me with happiness.
I crave to be held in her arms, have her tell stories and jokes, but most of all, I crave to just be with her.
She who i
DreamersDreamers, that's what we were.
Lying in the middle of the street after the traffic had died down; we would lay there on the warm asphalt watching the stars.
Dreamers, that's what we were.
When it was pouring rain outside, we would go out and dance together until we couldn't move anymore.
Dreamers, that's what we were.
Running around in fields and only stopping when our legs seized to work
Dreamers, that's what we are.
Lying alone in the road watching the stars fade into dawn.
Dancing alone in the rain until it slows to a trickle.
Running alone in fields until the grass withers and turns brown.
Dreamers we will forever be,
Just you and me.
TransformationIt's hidden deep in her veins, growing stronger and stronger every minute. Until the one fatal moment when it takes over, and the transformation begins. Transforming from girl to animal. Her back cracks and twists in ways unimaginable, in ways that seem to painful to bear. Ears stretching out to a point, feet to hooves, tail bone to tail. Her large blue eyes, the eyes that resemble a flowing stream, turn into light, tree bark brown. Her already strong sense of smell grows hundreds of times stronger than before. There is not a beautiful young girl anymore, but now a majestic young white tailed deer doe.
Ask HerShe wears sweaters everyday, and silently begs for you to ask why. Ask her why she is wearing a sweater on the hottest day of the year. Sometimes when you are around, she will pull up the sleaves to reveal cuts with bad make up jobs trying to hide them. All she wants is for you to ask about them. She is in all of your classes, and even sit next to her in two. Yet you never ask her that one question she wants to hear come from you. She knows you see them, you look at them often. When you ask her what homework is assigned in English, she gets lost in your dreamy, unrealistic, hazel eyes. You end up having to repeat the question twice, but everytime, it's not the question she wants. All she wants is for you to ask, "Why do you wear sweaters everyday?" or "How did you get those cuts?" But you are the "popular" boy, the boy who probably doesn't even know her name...
I'm BreakingI have given so many hints. Too many to count. I have written stories and poems. I have tried to tell you so many times. I have given you too many hints now, it's time for you to just figure it out. Its time for you to piece together the puzzle. I told you I'm writing sad and depressing stories and poems, that my knife won't cut. Why are you so blind to me? Why can't you just see what I have told you so many times now? I need you right now.