This is for NaPo, I have never done this before. Now, let's go!
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little caves of little stories thats where i like to play where i dont have to think and i can waste the day away
grammar doesnt matter and my friends are always here where my blood doesnt splatter and my head never hurts
away from the adults from little mean tasks where i still thrive and never wear my masks
makeup isnt needed and i dont have to worry to strict rules to be heeded and my back no longer hurts
but then i awake and then i cannot play beatings begin again and then i slowly waste away
Kylene Isabelle Granway, written sometime when Sadie was still her nanny.
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[Green ink.] the cries of weakness hurts my ears i keep on repeating and saying and telling myself that i am bad [The writing became messy here, rushed so to speak.]
i am not loved but she would love me if i were good
but my skin is too dark my hair curls too much i'm too loud my nose is too big my lips as well and that my hips shall be wide when i'm old
i bounce too much my hands flap around i can't shut my mouth
if i shut my mouth and don't talk for a long long while then i'm bad
i don't like the sheets on my bed because she gave it to me when she thought i was good
the food in the fridge mom's money given to her it's hers now
i'm hungry but that's bad [She was skin and bones when we found her.] i'm thirsty but that's defiant
writing will get me in trouble so i'm bad, bad, bad
[Splotches of tears found on page right here] my brother is good she says be more like him
i'm skin and bones so is my brother we'd be on a magazine for being 'fit'
but i'm starving and can't tell anyone
and my little cave of little stories was torn up, ripped to shreds, thrown in the trash gone
perhaps, when i'm not so tired i will tell [Poem ends here. Ink splattered on the page. Some red ink too, looks like blood.]
Written by Kylene Isabelle Granway, one month after Sadie arrived.
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Trigger warnings: I don't think there are any, but please tell me if there are. Spoiler
Darkness.
It creeps up on me when I least expect it grabbing my shoulders holding me tight
I used to struggle cry, scream, shout then I stopped
Its embrace was uncomfortable but I needed someone to hug me
Kylene Isabelle Granway, after being locked in the closet.
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why does she hate me so is she only looking after me for the money?
I know I didn't stumble, I'm sure I didn't fall, does she push me for the laughs? Or does she not care at all?
the little lies irk me there is no reason to tell a fib, fibs are bad
Small bruises coat my body little spots I look like one of those what do you call them? dalmatians when I poke them, they hurt but I shouldn't cry when in pain
What does she always say to me? with her face close to mine with disappointment shining in her eyes "there are children starving in Africa don't be ungrateful, brat."
I was told my brother was perfect but he looks beaten too his eyes glitter with tears and he hugs me tight
(I don't tell him that it hurts. I ask him if he's alright.)
His blonde hair falls in his face stained by red, it looks pink he washes it out over the sink
Our faces are never touched only our arms, legs, and belly so when our parents come home they do not see the scars
I try to be better but I'm just a child an ungrateful, starving beaten child
Kylene Isabelle Granway, Sadie has been her nanny for two months.
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Want to talk about your project? Head on over to the Writers Corner! If you have a question about writing, then head on over to Research! Is your question not big enough to warrant its own thread? Ask away in Little Details!
water around my ankles makes me want to cry cold and unforgiving it splashes around making sound it does not still and i'm pushed in swimming is not fun please do not bring me here again this place is cold
Kylene Isabelle Granway, when she was six.
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have you ever seen a broken boy taken and used as some mere toy
have you ever seen a shadowy green sea with no creatures or life or the ability to be free
a small soldier fighting for anything and everything most dear to his beating heart his whole world being torn apart
shadows around his eyes gaunt skin he's a ghost fighting for his meals his rights and me
Kylene Isabelle Granway, no date found on notebook.
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words firm speech unwavering "hands up, don't shoot"
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my life is not my own and i should accept that little meddlers will mess around with my story line
Kylene Isabelle Granway, breaking the fourth wall somewhat.
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like paper it's flimsy easily torn and fragile in the right hands it can be beautiful but in others it's a mess
each fold, each step should be taken with care or they will rip/fall/be ruined the selection of the paper/bandages should be taken with heed the wrong one could be the downfall of what was trying to be created
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