sit down she beckoned to me
make your self comfortable
tell me what you see...
she says as she hands me eight
laminated pictures drawn by hand
the images. the images and the images resurface...
blanketed in pink cotton
she refuses to be quiet
and remain unheard
cries in the middle ove the night
echo through monitors with
sound waves whispering repetitive tales ove rebirth
puncturing a whole some where
like a nail to a manufactured
can of air
the window left open
brushes wild fire wind against
her cheek
letting everyone know
she refuses to be weak
new picture
she hates to be noticed
wrapped in a torn winter coat
and yesterdays tears
a little girl plays alone
on a school yard
everything to lose
everything to fear
tightly gripping on to a new swing set rope ladder
trying to gather all her thots that matter
the lady hiding behind glasses
hands me another picture
memories by the masses
a couple years pass and the same little girl
stands in the doorway
of a red wooden door
shocked expression on her caucasion face
and richochaded tears fly from
her black inked eyes
only they’re falling on the inside
burying themselves in the acid ove her stomach
because she hungers to be loved
theres no color to the next one
a tall gentle men
wearing a bracelet to sport his
hidden lies
on the same arm
that represent his beaten pride
you can still see the impression ove her neck on his fingers
the other hand
suspended in air
long fingers curled around anger and danger
and the veins in his neck seem to strangle him everyday
floating infection like an airborne disease
hes killing but he doesn’t see
(number five)
the smeared eyeliner
under her eyes
dont hide all the
acid tears shes cryed
leaving mascara masquerading as
bullet wounds on her face
eyes widened
and perfect lips unmoving
behind the windowed peice of paper
in her hands remain no regrets
just old photograps
and one lyes on the floor
i see him
reflected into her eyes
and future arguements about
a lost track of time
number 006
he stands at a round kitchen table
with short brown hair and a trimmed mustache
and theres a little girl ove blond hair
who hides in the cabinets
and she gets a peak at his true self
whenever he brings home groceries infested with fruit flies and maggots
every time she seas him clinging to the vodka bottle
every time she sees him pushing harder down on the throttle
hes looking at her with the glass in his hand through the wooden door
checking to see if shes looking
as he drinks his life away
The seventh
Contains a girl
Standing in a towel
Infront of the bathroom mirror
Arms down by her side
And shes crying. Shes crying and shes crying
And her on her arms
She wears twenty six cuts as her badges
For every time hed call her a name
I suspect this girl showers with light off
Out ove disgust for the sight ove her own skin
And I also suspect she doesn’t turn on the fan
To take away the steam
Because every thing is truly only burning with in
And all ove the steam comes out through the razored thots
As she stands there in front ove the mirror
She can see them.
Taunting her haunting her flaunting her
We move on.
To the eighth picture
That portrays
a short girl
standing at a train station
luggage in her right hand
and a decision in the wrong one
here comes her chance
easing its way down cold tracks
of broken, stabbed backs and untold facts
wrinkles on her fiace
and nicotine lingers
exposing itself through the visible breath
the violent violet scars and goosebumps danec
as the cold window hardens her breasts
as the rears start to flow
suddenly.
my eyes become distracted
dropping the eigth picture
to the floor
ripping through the stale scented air
and she whispered to me
what .
what is it. what do you see
and i looked throught those
wire rim glasses
straight into her eyes
and as i raised my voice i said
its not what i see
its what you see
and you see that i see me.
i am that lil girl holding to the rope
with out any hope
these are my people
that is my life
these are representing everything
that i am
everything id liked to hide
those are my emotions
sketched in black red and white
thats my smile
my memory
those are my tears
and i too refuse to be quiet
and remain unheard
and she looked at me through her glasses
and with a smile she said as i cryed
shh.












credit:

((performed at Prime Roast [local coffee shop] Dec. 4th))

posted by +cantbethisemtee+ on the otep-mb