Young Writers Society

This is too long to put in the description line, but I loved a girl in high school, named Angel. To any body who didn't know her, she was just the wierd chick with the trip-pants and combat boots. She was sarcastic, a troublemaker, a cutter, pretty much your typical "troubled teen". But she wasn't typical at all. Not me, or to any of her friends. She had a seriously messed up life, a "funny" uncle, strung out mother, deadbeat dad, the works. She never really told us anything that was happening to her, until those rare times when she broke down crying because she couldn't hold it in anymore. She was our leader so to speak, there was nothing she could have asked us to do that we wouldn't have done. She died in our junior year, from an overdose. The one thing she wanted most in life was a life. She wanted to go somewhere, do something, anything, just get out of our small town. But she didn't even make it out of high school. This piece may not make sense to any of you, but I wrote this the week after her funeral, and I feel the need to share it now, get it out there. It's frantic and jumbled and uneditied for the most part, but it's mine and it's about her. So here it is.


Angel "burned by Bibles"
See, I was always taught not to rock the boat
but your sole purpose in life seemed to be to make waves.
Not just make them, ride them. Watch them as they crashed over
You.
Combat boots and chipped nails
sarcastic wit when all else failed, skin scarred by strange addiction
to self inflicted
Pain.
God, you craved it. At the same time, hated it. It sounds cliche, but can't live with it, can't live without it.
Without a doubt the most perfect being I'd ever seen,
but flawed. Defiled by unclean hands,
quick glance at the surface and it was easy to believe
You.
Lied more than you breathed.
See? How could we not? You never wanted us to, and we always did what you wanted, didn't we?
You towered, intimidated, some hated you
couldn't understand why we loved you, but
how could we not?
You taught me to be free and taught me how to be strong
even though you weren't.
Strong enough.
You told me once "falling isn't what I'm afraid of, it's hitting the ground."
You did. You hit rock bottom and found solace in all sorts of bottles, beer, vodka, prescription
they became your friends when we weren't enough
when I wasn't enough to pull you through.
I.
Couldn't accept it when they told me you dioed,
went down to the church that day when, though I knew it wasn't true,
not you, never you, anyone but you.
But there you were.
Hair as red as the scars on your arms
that your mother told the undertaker not to hide.
She wanted the world to see how you died.
I couldn't stand the sight, so I left,
like you left.
Angel you're an angel now
You always said you'd leave this place somehow.
You deserved so much better than anything we could give, but you stayed as long as possible
martyr, masochist,
you just couldn't get enough of the pain remember?
You stayed because you couldn't find a way out.
Until you did.
You left, left us all behind, and never looked back for there was nothing to look back to.
Nothing left for you here.