maybe you’re right about me.
maybe you’re right that I’m stupid and
selfish and
self sabotaging.
maybe my soul
belongs to the streets
where a different man
holds me every night
and the morning breeze
smells like crack and weed
and cigarette buts.
the next day is always a haze.
maybe my spirit
needs the fight
you push
i pull
and we both go
down.
maybe you’re right that
i’m a whore
(i wear my tits out)
and my values are like
inhaled smoke
and broken beer bottles.
always broken.
my daddy never loved me
and my mom never tried
so if you did
and i ran
i’m sorry.
i didn’t know where
else to to go.
About the Creator
Sara
Don’t look for love.
Be love.
Broken Glass
Of all the students Mr. Benedick expected to see in his office, he did not expect the boy who was sitting there. What grade was this one, he thought? He walked over to his desk, looked at the folder Ms. Diner had left out for him, and opened it. There was a photo inside of it, taken from last year’s picture day. Not much growth; not too different. The boy sitting in front of him had nothing strange or unusual in his file, if a child’s life defined by having “nothing disruptive or regretful” in it could be called fine. Mr. Benedick also realized that “life” was an anagram of “file,” and wondered where that thought came from as he stared at the boy in front of him. Benny Duncan. Grade Four. Beloved by all his teachers so far. He had seen the boy playing with the other boys his age in the school yard at recess. Four Square and foot hockey. A normal-looking kid. A normal kid… And here he was, after a very stupid moment with the fire alarm and a shoe.
By Kendall Defoe 2 days ago in Fiction
Comments (2)
Wow! That was really good. I felt every bit of it. Well done.🔥🔥🔥
This is incredible, Sara. Sad, but powerful and incredible. I'm not really sure what else to say. Your work always kinda mesmerised me - how you can put so much into so little!