His posture had become ridged, and his eyes had become almost sightless. He looked at me, his closest friend, as if I were a random foe. His voice was quiet, and more monotone then I'm used to, his eyebrows low on his forehead.
My friend looked empty, contrast to how looked a day or so ago. Inside his head, I'm sure, is a tornado of haunted thoughts. He crashed hard, and then bounced back entirely new.
The friend I had is gone.
( let me explain this one— It has nothing to do with anything in real life, so no one freak out. "He" isn't actually a "he" but it's rather just a friend of someone. It could be a girl or a boy. Young or old, tall or short. Doesn't matter. It's just someone's best friend. And it's about someone's best friend going through something so traumatic that they change so drastically that they pretty much become someone completely different. Just had to explain that so that people who I know IRL don't get confused and think I'm talking about someone specific. This poem isn't even really about me.)
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Unprofessional Poems
PoetryJust poems that were written by a teenager who does really know what she's doing. Please read. I promise they're not terrible- just unprofessional, and sometimes kind of angsty.
