miag321
the beads tingle and swish and form
creating visual masterpieces
in front of her eyes
big blue jewels
for eyes
staring in her little scope
watching
those magical shape shifters
shift and shape
leaving a little girl
in awe
like the tingle of the deli counter bell,
like the instant unexpected fingers meet,
the flare of electricity
sparks
he feels it
she hopes he felt it
because what do you know
she felt it too
the rust crunched as she hastily locked the portal behind her. Yet, she gets lost in a tangle of thoughts and realizes she is not safe, she will never BE safe. The lock is temporary, the door is only material. They are getting to her, coming in, shattering all walls and safety nets around her, they are here. In her head.
is my self worth
not as high as yours
does my value in pocket change
not amount to your weighty price tag?
im attempting
to rise the bar
to look you eye to eye
but you seem to always look down
down
down
upon me
I write of girls with braids
never me
never stories of I
with braids
never my memories
or bits and pieces of childhood
am I living
a life outside of my own?
do I discredit the value of my own stories
versus the made up ones
I need to live here
now
me
french braiding, fishtails
as fingers weave
and stories, giggles
waft through the air
pre-teen bedrooms
sleepless sleepover nights
popcorn crumbs
and the innocence of little girls
spread along the floor
wading through the splashes of water and other little tykes around
I navigate the 3 foot deep waters
conquering the kiddie pool sea square foot by foot
with aide from the orange floaters holding me above
I am the king of this jungle
mounds of toys and floating plastic castles
buckets and shovels
all floating around my
big proud chest
crushes are a funny thing
you don't really know when the line is crossed
between fancying
and crushing
then crushing
and love
But I define crush as the time when I knew
that no other person
not one
would do
but of course
you
blue crush
crushed strawberries in strawberry spritzers
the crush of the waves on the rocks
crushed granular sand swimming between toes
summer is here
too bad her heart's crushed
lust
is a funny feeling
when without it, you feel empty
you want an object of desire to fill that space
you yearn for the feeling of burning passion
but
when filled with
lust
all you want is all you may not obtain
all you desire
is no longer feesible
and that burning passion keeps
one up
into the hours of the early morning
eats at your brain
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