Teen Drama Queen

I’ve stood on the stage for my entire existence
The constant strain and proper persistence
Has not put an end to my hollow subsistence
Yet has strengthened the pull of my futile resistance

Proper and on display is how I’ve been always
I’d like to slink in the shadows and play there some days
The techies are ominous with their emotional ways
But they nod to me knowingly with a black hearted gaze

My father he told me I’m young and I’m twisted
For seeking that life, my cheek he then kissed it
My days I know are numbered and listed
But I can’t help but thinking it’s gone and I missed it

Freedom adventure and all that’s in between
I can’t even describe all the wonders I’ve seen
As I sing my solemn solo I am quite keen
To the fun I have missed as a teen drama queen


this was an asignment for skool so not neccesarily my personal thoughts...

For Us Both (Enough Love)

She shuts the door as the screaming
starts and we play like nothing is amiss.
I am terrified and I know she is too, but
we pretend that nothing
bothers us.
We pull the cereal box out from under the bed
for a snack.
We both know lunch won’t be forgotten today
since I am here. We munch on it anyway
to distract us from the ruckus
downstairs. She shows me the stick
she hid so that they can’t
hit her,
but they do it anyway.
The bruises on her back have almost healed.
I know there will be fresh ones soon.
Her mother adores me
and treats me well.
I’m not sure why.
I hate it when her mother yells at her and tells her
she should be more like me,
or when she gives me ice cream but not her daughter
because she isn’t perfect like me.
I am not perfect.
Why does she say these things to my friend?
When she is bad
or just forgets, I get her toys.
I don’t want them. She is sad
but I let her play with them
and share my toys when she
comes to my house. She stays with my family
a lot and she is happy.
I love her like a sister
though we don’t always get along.
I never, never, never
want it to be my fault. I tell her mother that it was my fault.
I get ice cream,
she gets bruises.
If I don’t take it her mother might yell at her more.
It makes me sick but I eat it.
Her tears fall and I want to go home. We walk
down the street.
Love is there.
Enough,
for us both.

a true story from when i was a little girl...