All she can say
is that she has never met someone exactly like her.
She has never met someone who views the world through a glass wall,
from above.
(Her body disappears and she is floating,
a marionette who wants to cut her own strings.)
Never met someone who looks at everything like it's a book
being written in front of her eyes.
(The dialogue, Times New Roman,
drawn on her vision.)
Never met someone who sees words hanging in the air,
enchanting, ephemeral, tangible.
(She collects them,
writes them into beautiful chains to save for later.)
Never met someone who is obliviously aware,
feeling for the Nargles,
sensing the longing in the air so thick she can taste it.
She can remember, ever since that day at the park,
having a void in her, begging to be filled.
(The only women who love her, who fill her,
always leave her.)
And then she is empty again.
She fills the void with words.
(So many words,
too many words.)
Words that overflow onto the pages
of countless notebooks.
Words that speak of a person,
one that everyone calls "girl,"
but isn't one.
(She flinches at every mis-gendering,
but says nothing, keeps her mouth shut like the good little girl
she is not.)
Words that speak of depression,
a storm,
vultures and dark clouds in her head.
(She hides the clouds,
wears a sunny face,
hides the carcasses
and blood behind layers of lies,
painted on stroke by careful stroke.)
Displays a girl, gay all the way,
aloof, a little awkward,
but sweet and well-meaning.
(Hides the boy, hides the in-between,
hides the straightness, hides the bi-romantic aspect.
Hides the part that can't talk to anyone,
the part that relies on her friends.)
She's become an expert at not crying when she shouldn't.
At hiding tear stains.
(All you need is concealer,
foundation, and Essence of Happy.)
She talks with sarcasm, vocabulary,
but in single sentences, the words inside her
reserved for the people that know her.
Because her family sees her,
But her friends know her.
And she wants to write, to tell everyone everything,
to get the burdens off, to leave for somewhere above.
But she will end her poem here
before her barriers collapse.
YOU ARE READING
Stormy Shoals: A Poetry Collection
PoesíaAnother poetry collection from my heart, just letting the words bleed onto the page. I mask the hurt with pain, because pain demands to be felt. But hurt just demands to ruin your life.... 🖤🖤Trigger warning: everything🖤🖤 "Criminally underrated...
