literature

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Literature Text

she's lashing out strangers
                                  in the street.
Starting a fight,
   and not raising a fist
just to find a new  
     guilt free
                  self harm.
                       she's treasuring the marks
                          on her skin.
                                As a reminder some
                                                  fleeting human
                                   contact.
So she's striking out
   at the world.
      at anyone
And it's all a way
    To strike out at Him.
         she sobs in public
                                    toilets.
       Begging "please some
                             one
        anyone
Please hide me"
   
                                    she's eating
                                                                  just to fuel a
                                                                sickness
                                                          in her stomach,
                                    just so she can
                                      lie down in the road
                            and leave a full size corpse.
she's falling in love with strangers
     smiles that are only real
in posed photos.
                              she wanders on the
                             beach front with a guitar
                she can't play  
                      she just likes having something,
                          to hold on to.
              she's stepping in other peoples
                                         foot prints in the sand.
                  In the vague   
       hope that she's
following a path to
someone, anyone.
                                    she's stopped loving
                             and started fucking,
                                 just searching for a  fix.
                       Trying to find a new way to
             rebuild an old wall
          she stares at girls with
                                             premature wrinkles
                                                            on their
                                        arms and  wonders
                                    if they're grew up
                             to fast as well.
She is doing what ever everyone else is.
Dying one day at a time.


Not sure really where I'm going, for a while I could see my writing was improving, now well, I don't know.
Once one, I'm really sorry every one.
Some of it is way way way to generic for my liking...
© 2009 - 2024 Pickled-Poppy
Comments60
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SOUTHEASToftheMOON's avatar
it's a very nice piece. i can relate. honestly my favorite part was either the last line or the first part of the author's comment (is that a legit part to like?).. I feel as though i missed something with the visual structure however. Was there a specific point to the poem's stanza pattern?
i truely loved the part about the scars on her skin. painful to read, yet so relatable for me. you really did a nice job conveying her anguish for human contact or some sort of purpose. at any price.
at least that's what i drew from it. please correct me if i misunderstood. i always enjoy hearing the writer's original intentions of meaning. :jarkinajar: