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Tradition.
Різне, Думки вголос
When I was a kid,
I would wake up at 4am,
Hearing the sounds
of my parents fighting.
It was an every night thing of their's.
Much like a tradition.
And having this tradition was something I hated.
even my little innocent mind
understood the reason why.
The little me knew this fight was the one
that could break our family apart.
But, I remained cocooned in the blanket to
block out the sound of my mom
hitting the wall and
crying out in pain.
I wanted to get up
hug her tight.
But, I was too scared.
Too scared.
I held on my sobs.
But I couldn't stop the fat tears
rolling down my cheeks.
My little heart was beating fast,
so loud that I could hear it
along with my mom's cries.
Till this day,
I never asked them about their 'tradition'
and since then, I blame myself for not standing up
and not stopping my dad from leaving me.
3
38
I don't know.
Різне, Думки вголос
I stared at her brown orbs.
Sadness was clearly present.
She was once a cheerful girl.
She smiled and laughed.
She was the happiest of the happiest.
No haters.
No jealousy.
Everything was perfect.
She tried to smile and let out a laugh but what came was a heavy hearted sob.
She WAS so happy.
Now, she just sits with a fake smile with her mind somewhere else.
Perhaps somewhere much happier where she was physically present.
I knew she was tired of opening up and closing down again and again.
She wanted to show herself to the world, to show her real self but with all that she went through, the painful backstabs, she knew she wouldn't.
She couldn't.
She refused to be hurt over and over.
I knew she was scared to.
I know she's scared to open her gateway of trust.
I know she feels burdened with all the problems and responsibilities all on her shoulders.
I knew she feels depressed.
I know. But, I can't help her.
The fresh cuts on her wrist were visible.
Fresh and bloody.
She flinched as her fingers softly touched her wrist.
Her naked body was covered with wounds.
Lonliness and hopelessness trembled underneath her wounded skin.
Her eyes were full with unshed tears.
Devastation was crystal clear.
But how can someone so happy became so lonely?
How can someone change so much?
I touched the mirror.
I don't know who she is anymore.
"Who are you?"
I whispered as tears collided down my cheeks.
2
33
Homeless
Різне
Once a foreign girl arrived, trying to understand where she lives. To Sinful, using programs, the words that translate, she say, passionately well done to his writing skills. And the Sinful said: “Well, to holy thing - crying to hear and satisfy her hunger! Start with a story about a hedgehog who dreamed of becoming a hedgehog. Well, that is, he did not know that he is a hedgehog. And all in his life he dreamed about it, but it turned out to nothing. And then he understood everything. But when he understood, he was no longer a hedgehog, but a fern. But at the same time he thought that he was a hedgehog and all his life he dreamed of becoming a fern. Until he understood everything again, but then he was already a stone. At the same time he dreamed of becoming a stone. But in the end, he was a homeless man who dreamed of being a man, but he also says he wanted to crap."
And the damsel listened, and she showed this wonderful creation to the world.
What is the moral? And in time, from the day that distinguishes. My convolutions are confused by incomprehensibility, and then in the end it turns out that way.
-Mark Word
5
73
Вірші
Всі
Thorns
it's tempting.
how you want to pick
that one specific red rose.
just that one,
you want to pluck,
end it's life
and keep it;
because it's beautiful.
but keep in mind,
there's always the thorns.
surrounding it,
protecting it;
from the
dangers of the maleficent.
a.d.
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