REMINISCING -poem by Christine Vega reminiscing bout these people I'm missing hearing their voices, seeing their smiles but knowing "reality" can't run that extra smile I can't feel your touch I miss your love, I know your there in the heavens above... What's reality anymore?! I'm stuck here in a fantasy! Why can't anyone see what grief has done to me? Misery, dispair, agony, torture that's what life is like without singing for you remember when I was a kid I'd sing all your oldies songs but yeah you'd sing along too reminiscing everynight I was always there for you, but of course you was here for me too I love you, but I don't know what to do...
Seems -Poem by Christine Vega Only 10 years old in this world on her own Sitting in her bed, feeling all alone Forced to call this hell a "home sweet home" I understand, I been there before Barely ever eating, I was sleeping on the floor Knock upon the door Hoping for an angel But just another guy tryna grip her by her ankles Her friends say she's "living the dream" Grass aint greener on the other side It's not how it seems Cos I can fake a smile, I can fake laugh But I'd never tell the truth I'm too good for that How everytime I meet a man he wants to make me cry? Why you do me like that? Why you tell all these lies? Cos when you fall inlove That's the day you start to die. Since we were little girls we're declared targets Being shot constantly by perverts and bullies But they never cared bout what they did to me Remember what I said it's not how it seems I'll continue to smile and continue to laugh But like life is all innocent I won't act like that And that's a damn fact
We have this quiet friendship going and it's an odd comfort. I didn't wait up next to you because I didn't want to seem overbearing. I took the long way round and when you crossed over first, I saw that smug smile, but you weren't happy. I wasn't trying to avoid you. I'm trying to stay on your good side but when I do that, I always put more distance between us. I think I left a good first impression, but now you're disappointed. I'm sorry. Let's go back to being strangers for a while. I know I give off a cold atmosphere, but I'll warm up to you with time.
My dad once complained about the way things are, and how if he knew how it would turn out, he would have done things differently. I remember thinking, "You can just start now" but I wish I'd actually said it, not that it'd make some difference...just so he could have his own thoughts said out loud for once.
i remember when my days were long and full of joy, accompanied by the laughter of children and the gentle creak of an old swingset. i remember when my biggest decision was what flavor of popsicle i could successfully eat without getting brainfreeze or which doll I would dress up in her summer clothes. i miss the days where i was carefree. i miss the laughs. i miss the time my friends and i had. i miss the happiness of my parents before life had made them worn and weary. i miss me. i miss the child who was blissfully unaware of the strain that life puts on you. i am now just as worn as my parents are, only younger and easily adaptable. but i have seen the world through the news and through stories and i have heard enough to see that the world is a sad, sad place, full of weary adults and blissfully unaware children just like me. i am not the only one suffering.
She looked in the mirror and mumbled strings of thought together, however incoherent they might be. A frail, greying figure looked back, too young to have looked the way she did, and she knew it. She saw the haunted look in her eyes, the veins etching themselves like tattoos under her skin. She saw a shell of her former self. They colorless body stood almost still in the mirror, the only movement coming from her chest when she breathed in shallow breaths, like the task had become too painful for her to bear. The boy stood behind her, horrified. "I am a shell," she spoke quietly. The boy said nothing. "I am afraid," she whispered again. "Of what?" He questioned back. His voice was strong, clear, assertive. Her voice was raspy, weak, and monotone. "Myself," she stated in a bland tone before collpasing to the floor. - Except of a book I'll never write
daisyellen posted a quote
May 29, 2017 11:45am EDT
picking sticksjumping over brickslove and freindship doesn't mixyou'll grow oldand i've been toldmummy says dinner is getting coldthree six nineyou're not minenow our rope is running out of twinejump in your bedcover your headmonsters can't get you if you're already dead
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