whoops.
they transformed her.
they wrote on her mind.
over and over.
words being
scratched
painted
spit onto her
she was the town’s graffitied wall
she was their place
to leave marks
and words
and their own little signatures
and the bigger people looked down
said
“that’s wrong.”
and painted over her.
once.
maybe twice.
but the artists always came back.
and the big people
could never stop them
from plastering on more paint
could never teach the girl
to ignore the paint
that covered her.
could never teach her
that she was more
than the “artwork” forced on her-
that labeled her.
and the worst part was
she was proud of the graffiti
because it made up who she was.
and they could never teach her
that she was anything different.
YOU ARE READING
of rants and poems.
Poetrybasically a bunch of raw emotions compiled into sentences and so-called stanzas of free-verse. if you could even call it that. either way, trigger warning and things like that. also it's unedited blasts of feelings and ranting. it's not something i...
