Confession: I Didn't Jump
We're all a little broken...
I wish I were more campfire than firecracker
Strong and constant, established
With a heart full of flames and smoky ringlets
Rather than twee and temporary
Like a melody played on a yellow ukulele
I wish I could be the tiger lily instead of the wilted daisy
The Harley instead of the mint green Mercedes
With butterfly decals
The truth is I used to be the campfire
The tiger lily, the Harley
Fendi, Gucci, shot of whiskey
But then something broke inside me
I stood on the edge of the cliff
Tried to think of your smiling lips
Tried to think of you being proud of me
But I just couldn't jump
Because you see
I'm the firecracker
Daisy, Mercedes, crybaby
And I hope that one day I'll be able to fix me
About the Creator
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More stories from Megan Stockhill and writers in Poets and other communities.
Stuck in Place
Amy whistled as she walked through her front yard, looking for any sticks she could pick up and throw into the pile she and her brother were making. They had a big windstorm recently; as such, all the trees in their yard had suffered some damage in some loss of sticks. Or perhaps losing those sticks was a good thing since their trees probably needed to be pruned anyway. Amy wasn't sure.
By Rebecca Patton6 days ago in Fiction
Comments (1)
nice work