deepundergroundpoetry.com
Little Girl
A little girl wakes up after a long sleep,
Stretching her arms, and yawning quietly,
For the dreams were intense and deep,
And in her sleep, she shed tears silently.
Heart bounced from one wall of her chest,
Like a basket ball passing by once prepared arms,
Bouncing off one wall and then going to the next,
Causing cracking and painful self-harm.
One man turned a shoulder from the pain,
The other used her to achieve his desires.
Once again, she was left alone in the rain,
So her body collapsed, restless and tired.
Many nights she spent, rejecting herself release,
Looking at the pen and paper with unreasonable disdain.
Her body was overwhelmed with tears and heat,
And her pale skin had once again become crimson stained.
Until one fateful night she closed her eyes,
And like her tears they just flowed out.
Past her cheeks and over her lips, on gentle sighs,
Beautiful words in poetry began to spout.
Once she'd grabbed that pen she could not put it down,
And out all her stories came, flowering on each page.
Busily scratching the ink around without a whimper or sound,
The paper she wrote on became her broken heart's recovering stage.
Stretching her arms, and yawning quietly,
For the dreams were intense and deep,
And in her sleep, she shed tears silently.
Heart bounced from one wall of her chest,
Like a basket ball passing by once prepared arms,
Bouncing off one wall and then going to the next,
Causing cracking and painful self-harm.
One man turned a shoulder from the pain,
The other used her to achieve his desires.
Once again, she was left alone in the rain,
So her body collapsed, restless and tired.
Many nights she spent, rejecting herself release,
Looking at the pen and paper with unreasonable disdain.
Her body was overwhelmed with tears and heat,
And her pale skin had once again become crimson stained.
Until one fateful night she closed her eyes,
And like her tears they just flowed out.
Past her cheeks and over her lips, on gentle sighs,
Beautiful words in poetry began to spout.
Once she'd grabbed that pen she could not put it down,
And out all her stories came, flowering on each page.
Busily scratching the ink around without a whimper or sound,
The paper she wrote on became her broken heart's recovering stage.
Published 5th Aug 2012
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 4
reading list entries 2
comments 6
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The author encourages honest critique.
5th Aug 2012 10:58am
I can't get the movie V for Vendetta out of my head when I look at this!
There is a solid story here that is echoed in more then one famous writer and had a broad appeal.
Well done.
There is a solid story here that is echoed in more then one famous writer and had a broad appeal.
Well done.
8th Aug 2012 8:38am
Heh, thank you very much, I wrote this about my recent break up. (: I am so glad you could compare it to something like that!
8th Aug 2012 00:48am
So beautiful, so heart breaking. Just remember, you are not alone. Love you Holly <3
8th Aug 2012 8:40am
14th Aug 2012 10:40pm
14th Aug 2012 11:23pm
Thanks Fred! I'm glad to see you're still sticking around. (:
Email me sometime, we'll chitter chatter.
Email me sometime, we'll chitter chatter.
