|
identify
by Jennifer Truesdalei found momentary
in a cup in the kitchen.
no ice to cool the liquid,
just carbonated reflection.
my eyes spritzed with the crackling
to take away my attention
from the girl who is ripping holes in her arms.
all because she is too sick to know that there is a better way
and she'll never stop long enough to feel anything.
except the pricking.
she loses another vein to
wasting her life away,
on junk she should have never become acquainted with in the first place.
i'd look at her face,
if mine didn't pour like rain
every time i noticed how
turning 13 really can look like 33
and how you can talk about situations that i thought you had to at least show ID to talk about these days. 09/02/2011 Posted on 09/02/2011
Copyright © 2024 Jennifer Truesdale
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by George Hoerner on 07/26/12 at 02:13 AM That is one of societies problems, we don't talk enough about the right things. I mean the things that make you feel like a real person. The things that are important to you. And once you are "hooked" on not talking it is hard to start. |
|
