deepundergroundpoetry.com
Speechless (When The Writer Runs Out of Words)
I don't know. . .
I cannot even begin to explain what just happened.
And that is very, very bad.
Because I am a writer.
And for a writer to run out of words.
I do not know and I do not think that is possible.
But I just. . .
My brain hurts trying to understand.
How pictures of drugs end with my bullied past being brought up?
I don't want to see pictures of drugs because I am a mother.
And I hate the thought of anyone even using them.
So I wanted them taken down.
Is that so bad?
Really?
And after arguing, and blood and tears, and yelled at--
Almost being hit by my own boyfriend.
Because of his parents whom are afraid of their fifteen year old daughter, his sister?
Having my boyfriend scream at me.
And finally-- Finally having to fake my own suicide.
"Take that Gertrude, I'm Ophelia jumping from this tree-- Deep down into the river I shall sink."
Is this really what it comes down to?
Because from argument to argument to threat to threat--
Until the pictures we're taken down.
And before, just before the war could finally end.
We could lay down our swords and shake hands again.
His sister has to ruin it by reminding me how I lost my best friend.
How my ex-best friend wasn't really the best?
How she was willing to laugh at me, my depression, my cuts along with this person that his sister consider her friend?
Is that really needed?
How would she feel if I took her best friend away?
And then we had a good laugh about her right in front of her.
Right next to her, when she can hear every word we say?
Because that's what happened to me.
Which was why I ran away, away from that monster's place.
Away from demons domain.
Dropped out of school to get faraway, from the bullies, heart breaks and all my mistakes.
And you just throw it in my face.
Remind me of the people that hurt me.
And whose marks you will always find a trace, in the scars on my heart and soul?
Thank for giving the metaphorical knife a good twist.
For killing off my trust.
And silencing any remaining thoughts of a friendship.
So now you and your family will think that I am dying, somewhere in a hospital bed.
My mind broken all over again.
And you'll just pretend, pretend, pretend.
But as far as you can see I am dead, dead as can be.
I am broken beyond repair.
Reminding me of these things are not one bit fair.
I hope you feel bad.
I hope you feel shame.
I hope you feel sick with yourself.
And your blood pours like rain.
You wouldn't know real pain if it stabbed you in the back.
I definitely hate you now.
And you hate me.
At least that we can agree on that.
I cannot even begin to explain what just happened.
And that is very, very bad.
Because I am a writer.
And for a writer to run out of words.
I do not know and I do not think that is possible.
But I just. . .
My brain hurts trying to understand.
How pictures of drugs end with my bullied past being brought up?
I don't want to see pictures of drugs because I am a mother.
And I hate the thought of anyone even using them.
So I wanted them taken down.
Is that so bad?
Really?
And after arguing, and blood and tears, and yelled at--
Almost being hit by my own boyfriend.
Because of his parents whom are afraid of their fifteen year old daughter, his sister?
Having my boyfriend scream at me.
And finally-- Finally having to fake my own suicide.
"Take that Gertrude, I'm Ophelia jumping from this tree-- Deep down into the river I shall sink."
Is this really what it comes down to?
Because from argument to argument to threat to threat--
Until the pictures we're taken down.
And before, just before the war could finally end.
We could lay down our swords and shake hands again.
His sister has to ruin it by reminding me how I lost my best friend.
How my ex-best friend wasn't really the best?
How she was willing to laugh at me, my depression, my cuts along with this person that his sister consider her friend?
Is that really needed?
How would she feel if I took her best friend away?
And then we had a good laugh about her right in front of her.
Right next to her, when she can hear every word we say?
Because that's what happened to me.
Which was why I ran away, away from that monster's place.
Away from demons domain.
Dropped out of school to get faraway, from the bullies, heart breaks and all my mistakes.
And you just throw it in my face.
Remind me of the people that hurt me.
And whose marks you will always find a trace, in the scars on my heart and soul?
Thank for giving the metaphorical knife a good twist.
For killing off my trust.
And silencing any remaining thoughts of a friendship.
So now you and your family will think that I am dying, somewhere in a hospital bed.
My mind broken all over again.
And you'll just pretend, pretend, pretend.
But as far as you can see I am dead, dead as can be.
I am broken beyond repair.
Reminding me of these things are not one bit fair.
I hope you feel bad.
I hope you feel shame.
I hope you feel sick with yourself.
And your blood pours like rain.
You wouldn't know real pain if it stabbed you in the back.
I definitely hate you now.
And you hate me.
At least that we can agree on that.
Published 23rd Aug 2013
| Edited 17th Jan 2014
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 0
reading list entries 0
comments 0
reads 604
Commenting Preference:
The author encourages honest critique.
