By mybiteistrue on 11/27/2007
I look into the mirror
and see a girl that could be pretty
if thinner cheeks and whiter eyes
and happy colors graced her face.
I wash the troubles
off my hands with soap:
a usual occurance of
flick on the light switch
a couple of times, and
check for murderers
behind my bedroom door,
collapse unwillingly into the piles
of rotting clothes
and precious books
I have yet to motivate myself to move,
strewn, for now, across
to my feet.
The sound of plastic vibrating on wood!
And I know whose message my phone brings and what he wants.
He goes in vain, and
I am too tired to lead him on.
by the frequent sound I say I ignore;
I can tell myself it's right,
this I am allowed.
But it is all for what?
For a life where I regret each choice I make
which prevents me from living happily?
In this moment of truth and self-pity I wallow,
and distribute colored stickers
decorated with a heart accordingly:
One for Mom and Dad, I wish I could love them;
one for the dog, who listens
and one I send off to the only one I can be sure
will bear it right for me....
© By mybiteistrue On 11/27/2007 9:46:32 PM