A poem written by a girl who doesn't quite like how things are |
I’m glass melting on sunburned skin; Irrational in my pain, I seek to cool and harden For such sticky raw softness leaves me vulnerable to madness. I count my lucky stars as they fall, Leaving behind a black boring hallow darkness that Seems to sit behind my pupils. Tears are pulled out of my eyes like yarn. Leaving knots to tight to untie in my stomach; My mind is sucked up through a straw and swallowed carelessly at high speeds. I’m the cheap stuff; eighteen year old melted goo, White with age. Something kept to be savored but in the end thrown out, flat, Gone bad. I am your favorite CD that skips at the best bits, Still spinning, wishing I could deny how bad this feels, A hurt despite dead skin, But damn, I’m nothing but a joke with too quickly delivered punch line, A laugh that went stale in someone’s sweaty palm. I’m a pale paste wanting to be told I’m magic. A crouton dreaming of being someone’s bread. Disappointed in who I’ve disappointed, Yet I still have an ego, it constantly tells me that it’s my fault For your wrongs. But can I be blamed? I’m just a PB and J sandwich dropped peanut-side down. I’ll get stuck on the roof of your mouth along with the cat hair. I’m just a pile of melted crayons in a baby’s car seat, wishing they were valued like Picasso. Don’t forget your suntan lotion, you wouldn’t want to melt like I did. Don’t forget your ray of sunshine, Here comes someone else’s problem walking by. |