I saw a little boy today.
He sat in a booth
with his mother...
rocking back and forth

back and forth.



She wouldn't let him have the
crayons and colouring book
I had brought him.

His eyes had almost a translucent
film over them.
Grey,
full of empty.
Only one kept fully open,
the other strayed to the right,
half closed.

He never looked up at me,
but he'd always smile when
I would address him.

He couldn't decide
between
a cheeseburger or cheesticks.

He frowned,
mumbling quietly to himself
as he gently flicked his wrist,
in mid air,
questioning his stomach...
rocking back and forth

back and forth.



She quickly snapped at him,
her tone full of hate and let downs.

He slowly turned his head to me
and softly sighed,
"Can i... have cheesticks, please?"

I wanted to snap at her.

Second thought,
I wanted to strangle her.


He asked for a hot chocolate,
and she harped at him,
rolling her eyes after the glare,
she looked to me
"I don't know why he wants a
hot chocolate."

Her mouth was distorted disgust.

Let him have a fucking hot chocolate, you cunt.

When his glass was empty,
regardless if I was even near the table -
He'd hold it out to the side of him,
silently asking for more.

I'd quickly stop what I was doing,
and rush to him,
refilling his cup with his lingering
slow spoken words...

"Can.. i have.. whipcream.. too, please?"


She sat across from him,
with disgusted expressions
and disappointed gestures.

I wanted to steal him away,
and call him my own.
Sit in a secluded park
and just colour with him.


Every. Day.


With happy expressions
and proud gestures.



I spent the rest of the evening wondering
what his life will be like
in ten years,
when he realizes how cruel teenagers can be.
in twenty years,
will he ever find love?


Will he ever have that one that he let slip away?

The one that I walked away from.

The one that I dove into,
only finding an empty pool
of what I once was told was a majestic ocean.

The one that doesn't exist.

The one that I want.

I want.
I want.
I want.





and

the one that I'll never have.


I wonder why I'm still destroying myself
on days like this.

Pondering wearing a sign
that says in tiny letters:
i'm beautiful.
i'm a mess.
i'm violent.
i will battle with anyone.
i need attention.
if i don't have it
i wither out.
i need reassurance.
i need to know you love me.
i need to hear you love me.
i'm beautiful.
i'm way too emotional.
i'm a rollercoaster.
i will treat you as royalty.
i will rip your fucking throat.
i will blame you for everything.
i up-play my problems.
i don't take my medicine.
i have this image of who i am
it never fits what i really am.
i'm still breathing though.
i'm beautiful.
i'm the most stubborn person you will ever meet.
i'm brutally honest
but i can't handle brutal honesty.
i don't live in a normal world
everything is made up.
i won't expect anything less than you pretending i'm amazing.
i run as fast as i can from everything.
i can't grasp realities.
i have no notion of time,
i'm always fucking late.
i make myself into something more intriguing.
i have more fears than picasso has paint.
i don't hold to my responsibilities.
i stray to a more comforting voice.
i'll leave you behind if you're not it.
but for fucks sake
i'm .still. b e a u t i f u l.

Mayhaps then,
I'll limit the art of letting people down.
Constantly.

A fair warning, you can say.

But notice that I said the letters must be tiny,
i don't really want you to know these things.

I just want to wear the sign,
and blame you after you learn them.
That way I can say that
you should have gotten a magnifying glass.
It was clearly there.
Right across my chest.

I dig up thoughts
and words.

Things that comfort me,
things that i wish i had said.

I just want someone to look me in the eyes.
Stare at my face.
And tell me what they see.

Just tell me what you see.

Just get to the fucking point.



I have only so many know-hows.
I can't be expected to be what everything thinks I am,
what everyone wants me to be.


I have a hard enough time
dealing with my chest caving in at everything
that is said to me on a daily fucking basis.

My arms are always open wide,
but I'm still lonely.
Always alone.

I don't want someone to hold my hand, mind you..
or someone to merely show concern if i live or die.
I want someone to hold my body.
To show concern if i blink or sigh.

All the little things.
All the little words.
All the little looks.



I've been waiting for something better all my life.
Fuck better.
Now I'm waiting for something divine.


Maybe life isn't really for everyone.











I told him I felt a masterpiece
coming on.
He asked if it was the masterpiece.
I don't want it to be the masterpiece.
I just wanted it to be mine.
My masterpiece.


My masterpiece.

.. of girl getting bitter.

If you [Log In] as a member you can discuss this work with others