To burn a prayer
into a newborn's gentle skin
is but a scar
that the hands of time will carve
And to stitch the word of The Lord
to a young man's heart
Will shed blood in broken thread.
A golden cross may belong around your neck
But it's my necklace of thorns
Twine too tight not to bleed
To be subservient to an ancient book
Is but the slave of an unproductive world
In the eyes of a child who's mind has wings
Of a different colour.
And perhaps a life that is right for you
Is not one a child would grow into.
Something broken, or something dead
and everything that was ever said
Punches, bruises, sticks and stones
and everything that broke my bones
to words they said would never hurt,
to a shoe that kicked my face with dirt
Yes, these tears are made by you
but even tears don't make lies true
Tears that dampened my pillow case
tell a story that you could never chase
and I'll keep running until I die
Because you'll never catch me, I'll watch you try
I see you day and I see you night
You are always up before it is light
Never seem to rest your head on your pillow
You seem like a rather peculiar fellow
I love you anyway because you are mine and I am yours
I follow you happily about the floors
Listening always and never too loud
I'm here for you when you are down
I rest my nose upon your cheek
And they are cold with the water your eyes seem to leak
It's silly how you do this
But I love you and can't wait to give you a kiss
The red lines on your arms are bumpy and diced
The thing that dances on them isn't too nice
You haven't eaten with me for a long time now
Its hard to imagine not
Amung the sinks and filthy tiles
I stay between two dirty walls
I really just need to be here alone
No where but here amung the bathroom stalls.
As I sit upon the toilet lid
I can see the water between my knees
I glare into this toilet bowl
And all I find is a circular sea.
I watch as they drip again and again
The tears come streaming down my cheek
They fall into the bowl directly below
And vanish into the water so bleak.
This is the place I come to hide
This is the place I always go
Where theres a place I can be myself
And not my emotions' puppet show.
I hear the tap of my shoes echo the room
But its shushed asleep by the sound of the flu
She's that one girl you see with the pencil woven
between her skinny fingers
She's the one who sits in the corner
instead of the middle of the room
The one who's always last to speak
The one who's words are kept secret to everyone
but herself
Always the one who bites
her own tongue
She's the girl who's beautiful
but doesn't think the same way
She's the one who can't be convinced
of the talents she holds
The flare that ignites the lives of the people around her
but she can't feel the heat for herself
She is weighed down by the insecurities she slings
over her shoulders
She's unconvinced of her own style
her own special self
She'
A child sits numbly at a table
the chairs across from him are empty.
Children race about around him
and he watches as their attention dashes through him.
He wears a heart necklace the red of a summer sunrise
and plays with it idly between his fingers. It can be split in two but it stays as one.
Someday, I'll find someone to wear this with me
He whispers, almost as if to console himself.
A teenager sits meekly at a table
the chairs across from him are empty.
Other teens text and chat with their friends
and he watches as one girl smiles at him with honey eyes.
He wears a heart necklace the red of his blushing face
and he plays with i
"I'm fine" is a dirty lie.
The truth is that I want to die.
"I'm tired" is not even done.
It really means "I'm tired of being no one"
"I'm better" is but a curse.
The truth is that I've never been worse
"I'm just cold" is what I say
so my sleeves can hide my scars away.
"I already ate" is said with a frown.
I starve to see the numbers on the scale go down.
"I'm okay" is probably the worst.
It really means I'm about to burst.
All these things are lies to me.
But you take this as the truth because what else would I be?
Oh, so you're not thin?
Tell me how you're ugly.
Oh, so your hair doesn't look good everyday?
Tell me whose does.
Oh, so you make mistakes?
Tell me who doesn't.
Oh, so you're not a model?
Tell me what the definition of beauty is.
Oh, so you aren't normal?
Tell me what "normal" is.
Oh, so you aren't good enough?
Tell me why.
You can't.
Because there isn't a standard you need to reach to be yourself.
Why, yes.
I do pick up books.
And thank you for thinking I hold them upside down or I can't even finish the first page.
Why, yes.
I do math.
And thank you for thinking I can't long divide or that numbers shave my mind blank.
Why, yes.
I can write.
And, again, thank you for thinking I can't use a pen or that I <rite tings liek dis>
Why dont you take a label maker and slap it right on my forehead? All to see and all to share?
"Stupid blonde"
Maybe a pawn in your conversation, or ideas just easily ignored.
A voice filtered upon arrival and spilled down the drain to wash away, carried to a place where rubbish seals any whisper left to
So I saw her.
I saw her broken
and I saw the hollow glaze in her eyes
like the the world had sucked the life out of her.
And yet
they were a work of beauty
and they filled my heart with what they didn't posses.
She lay upon the floor as if in pieces
like broken glass.
I walked towards her and the glass she shed cut my feet
And sure
it hurt,
but my curiosity grew bold enough not to care about the red foot prints
that trailed my walk.
I slowly picked up her pieces and my hands were raw with cuts
and painted with the red of shimmering blood
but all I could feel was my heart throbbing
all I wanted was to try to piece this girl back tog