She was so beautiful
and I don't mean beautiful as she'd come to expect it to mean
I don't mean her body
I don't mean that she didn't have a nice body because holy shit she did
it was well she had
there were a lot of people who told her she was beautiful just trying to get in her pants
i didn't like her because she was sexy
well she was sexy but that's not why i liked her.
it was the way her eyes would shine when she smiled, the way they would glow in the sunlight and moonlight and hell even the awful florescent lights in the girls bathroom. She seemed to glow wherever she went.
it was the laugh. not the petite sweet girlish giggling she used whenever she pretended to laugh at something not funny, the full blown snorting wheezing so hard that tears came down her face laugh. i've never wanted to make a person laugh as much as i did her.
it was the way she carried herself. the quiet confidence, she walked with a straight back and a smile, nearly enough to hide the storm behind her eyes or the demons in her brain, the butterflies in her stomach, the trembling in her hands. it was the way she pretended to be okay when her world came shattering around her… just to spare everyone else's world's from becoming cracked.
it was the way she lit her cigarettes. with finality as if she'd read the warning on the carton, looked at that picture of the shrivelled blackened lungs and proudly declared that she didn't care. it was the way that she passed it to me, so casually without being asked. her tinted chapstick stained the filter, it tasted like cookies… or something like that. but i smiled because i knew it was the closest my lips would ever get to hers
it was her. it was all of her the chapstick and the scrathy sweaters the scarves the laughing the smile the confidence all the broken pieces and the way she desperately tried to hold them together. it was the glow.
but it wasn't enough. it wasn't enough to stop the boys from walking all over her or the girls from whispering as she walked past them in the halls. not enough to stop the alcohol from meeting her tongue or the blood from spilling down her arms or the pills from falling down her throat
it was so much to love but i could never find the courage to tell her
YOU ARE READING
Beatrice Jaymes~ a collection of work
شِعرpoetry personal essays snippets of stories that will never be written (looks better on scroll mode than paging)
