Every fiber of her being,
twisting, aching, begging.
Forced to stand by and watch,
you snap her neck, and make her cry.
She screams bloody murder,
but the people pass her by.
Tears sticky her face.
Purple stains her jaw.
You are the child in the theaters,
crying and kicking her chair.
You are the baby in the car,
screaming and kicking her chair.
You are the crowds that stand in the hallway,
blocking the path with your dominance.
You are the rippling notebook paper,
flicking loud and irritating in her spine.
You pull her limbs,
sockets popping.
She reaches out,
touches my hand.
The mirror shatters,
and I want to scream.
I will drive a knife into your neck.
I hate you.
When the world is better,
and I am still broken,
I will kill you.
I'll send you to hell with joy.
because I'm hurting, I'm crying,
but above all else,
I hate you.
YOU ARE READING
Hope in the Dark
PoetryA collection of poems about experiences and thoughts I've had in the few years I've been alive. Some are recent pieces, others are from middle school. This collection is somewhat in order, and I leave in the older ones in to show other young writers...
