Heartless - but have a heart to care if you break a heart.
Quiet - but loud enough to be heard.
Not through my lips do I speak- but through my actions & gestures do u seem to hear me clearly.
Just like a SHADOW being seen & not heard.
Cover with burns, scars, cuts, & deep wounds within this BROWN SKIN-- yet u love my brown skin.
Silk & smooth to the touch.
BOOM!!!
Like a bomb I explode- hit the wrong button & the Seed of Chucky appears.
WAIT!
REMEMBER-- BE ANGRY & DO NO WRONG!
OK OK OK....
I NEED MAKEUP- YOU KNOW THE KIND THAT BLENDS ALL THE HURT TO MAKE EVERYTHING DISAPPEAR.
I lost my identity.
I was pretending to be something I wasn't when I know I was plastic...
Flexible & had to many curves.
Covered with lies.
O yea, I got what I deserved.
HEAR MY CRY!
I DON'T KNOW WHO I AM ANYMORE.
MY HEART & SPIRIT IS PARALYZED...
MY FLESH IS WEAK.
MY TWIN TOLD ME I WASN'T THE SAME...
THAT SHE WAS ASHAMED EVEN TO INTRODUCE ME AS {ME}.
SAVE ME!
PLEASE RESCUE THIS LOST SOUL & RESTORE ME---
REVEAL MY TRUE IDENTITY!
About the Creator
Jocquetta Jones
A Divine Original Fashioned by God to be Radiantly Beautiful!
Dare to be Different!
Be Your Own Definition of Beautiful!
MOTTO - Style, Strut, & Smile :)
Be "YOU"nique <3
Keep reading
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My Tolerated Self
I'd like to think I'd escape for better days. Even though the needles pricking into my skin may urge me to stay put, we are not meant for boxes and contraptions that will keep us inside. The needles aren't real, they are like bugs crawling on my skin—those feelings will fade with clarity, but some days I am unwilling to step outside of my tolerated self; my bones crumble at the idea of a future uncertain. I'm used to the boxes that keep me in place even though I know I can walk right through them and I'd be fine.
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The woman sat nonplussed, in the Waiting Room. In a sort of daze, looking straight ahead patiently. She had already had three small breakfast's that morning and a nip of sherry, this was not unusual she would typically wait until an hour after she took her anti-depressant and was her morning routine. She was merely following instructions she assured herself, shifted slightly in her seat and feeling a little heart burn thought, maybe she should skip lunch. Dom had said to have the task done this week. She was well used to his methods and desired to get this over and done with soon. She glanced at her watch, smiled weakly at the Receptionist who was there for a moment and then gone.
By Canuck Scriber L.Lachapelle Author7 days ago in Fiction
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