her room has become her universe.
her dreamland is purple
fading into navy into black:
bruised dreams.
people give her pitying looks and tell her
all teenagers feel this way.
she is just another statistic and could she stop
complaining because life is moving and
everyone has somewhere to go
and the general message is:
pull yourself together,
girl.
pressing her forehead
against the coolness of a rain washed window
she wonders why she cannot cope with life,
why the little things like waking up
are so much harder for her.
she wonders why sunlight does not enter her world.
why she can't seem to reach normality,
can't play the part she was given
and why most dusky mornings she
feels like the air has pinned her to the bed.
she wonders why she feels that getting dressed
is a huge chore that
can only be done on certain days.
for example the days when
her milk carton has run out or
she can no longer exist
on stale crackers.
life has required routine.
she doesn't cry anymore.
she simply
gets up,
remembers who she is,
gets back down.
she is falling very hard and
very fast towards a very
dark place where no one will be able to
reach her and her bestfriends
will be a wet pillow,
a spiral bound notebook,
a safety pin.
but everyone just
averts their eyes,
scratches the back of their hands.
and the general message is:
pull yourself together,
girl.
Gender:
Points: 1040
Reviews: 85