This was written at a youth LGBTQ+ conference (it was amazing, if you're wondering) where I did a poetry workshop. We wrote down a secret - of our own or made-up - and drew papers randomly (10/10 would recommend, I loved this experience). I swear on my existence on this earth that I did not draw my own - although I can't say I haven't done this before.
The secret will become apparent, but I'd like you to know the "her" mentioned is something I made up because I needed a reason for the subject of the poem to be upset.
baiiii, enjoy the poem!
-smo
~~~~
Today was the worst.
Unlock the front door.
Math, Science, Gym and French.
Yank off my sneakers.
A loaded semester.
Trudge to the kitchen.
She's in my class, too.
Pull chocolate from the cupboard.
Wouldn't stop laughing at my hair today.
Head to the living room.
The stupidest thing, but still, it hurts.
Curl up on the couch.
Kept telling me it was 'a two-year-old's hair'.
Turn on the tv, flick to Netflix.
My reflection grimaces at my high ponytail.
Chose Powerpuff Girls.
Flip my hair over my shoulder and listen to high-pitched squealing and giggles.
Giggle to myself.
And suddenly I don't care
About my two-year-old's hair.
Perhaps I am a two-year-old
Myself.
YOU ARE READING
Organized Chaos - These are My Thoughts
PoetryNo, These are not poems. So flimsy a thing as can be called a few words on a page. These are thoughts. Paper thoughts, broken and scattered and gone like the wind. Iron anvil thoughts, never leaving though it is all I can ever ask of them. Invisible...
