Her sleep became nonexistent
In a world of infomericals hair removal products
And "sexy college co-eds"
And she knows that she'll never be asked to appear
In one of those videos.

Because the boys like girls with confidence -
Tall girls who hold their head up high
Blonde hair, blue eyes and a flat stomache.
She doesn't care enough about herself to do situps.
And though she could dye her hair blonde, it is a raven black.

Sleep rarely finds her
So she serenades herself with a rainstorm of tears
Falling from the gray clouds that are her eyes --
She's surprised they haven't turned gray yet.

Curling beneath her blankie --
The one her least favourite ex-boyfriend's mom made her
For her seventeenth birthday
She wonders who's thinking about her
Versus who even remembers she exists.

She tells herself a bedtime story
Of the boy that sneaks through her window
With a rose in one hand
And his heart in another, slipping her a kiss on the forehead
As she drifts to sleep.

And when she sleeps,
She dreams in colour.

And it's usually gray.

07/16/2003

Author's Note: This is me dealing with a potent mixture of isnomnia and depression. Probably my favourite of any poem I've penned.

Posted on 07/16/2003
Copyright © 2025 Shayla R Cakes