|
Post by Laura on Nov 21, 2005 18:27:31 GMT -6
She cries – . . . . . . . . I cry. Her hands feel nothing I feel nothing but empty Empty like an abandoned shell Too ugly – Castaway from the others
She cries – . . . . . . . . I cry.
How can I get my face into that magazine? Selling my body, selling my features, selling out Beauty shouldn’t fade with time Real beauty doesn’t fade with age. How can I tell her how she should feel?
Everything has gone wrong this time I feel my insides spitting out They will do anything to get away from this I wonder who will be the first person to tell me
“You’re beautiful”
Those words seem miles away, Past my peek, my teenage prime Almost twenty, I guess I’ve reached the dead line
Dancing in words that make no sense I just want to hold her . . . . . . . . I just want someone to hold me.
She cries – . . . . . . . . I cry
I bottle the tears to frame along my bedside Each one more full than the last And my mouth has dried Cheeks no longer tomato red Just off peach, just off human touch Been so long since someone kissed these lips
How can I get my face in those magazines? Turn to cancer that turns someone on Flicking me off, I’ll become ashes after that Too many takes and I’m nothing but sand.
And when she cries I long to say
“I miss someone all the time too” . . . . . . . . although I’m not always sure who.
|
|
|
Post by Only Me on Nov 28, 2005 15:35:04 GMT -6
I really like your work! "I wonder who will be the first person to tell me
“You’re beautiful”
Those words seem miles away, Past my peek, my teenage prime Almost twenty, I guess I’ve reached the dead line" These words are awesome!
|
|
|
Post by Laura on Nov 29, 2005 21:17:50 GMT -6
Thanks a lot. I don't normally go back into my poems and say thank you to the responders, but I really do mean it I love getting comments, good or bad, and I love getting criticism.
|
|