The Girl in the Story

did i edit it? i think so, i hope so. please enjoy. there'll be more, i think.

let’s conjure a story,

in which

the main character is a girl

and she runs.

she runs daily,

distancing herself,

- a criminal mastermind -

leaving no traces,

escaping,

 from her feelings.

 sometimes...

sometimes-

 sometimes she’d turn back just a little

a desperate glance

deliberating if maybe

someday,

someday she could stop running

maybe sometime in the future she could live a normal life like everyone else

 (but what’s normal?)

maybe

maybe sometime in the future she could be a normal girl,

a girl with a story which we don’t have to tell.

but for now she’s the girl in our story.

and so she takes pauses, breaks

(attempts at convincing herself)

hydrates, pretending she’s fine,

(making herself believe that maybe, maybe, someday it would be

 normal

again)

(but was it ever normal?)

the emotions,

they torture her,

kill it, she whispers

(which comes out more like a tired huff)

she attempts destroying them,

 (locking them away, sweeping them under the carpet)

in all the ways she can think of,

in all the ways they tell

- promise -

her that will work

but of course they keep chasing,

tirelessly, relentlessly,

(so she has no choice but to keep going)

but she’s a girl

 and so she can’t run forever,

- and one day it does catch up.

like a tiger,

it prances

leaps

high

jumps on her

no

she screams

please

 - high-pitched words sharp enough to shatter glass -

she chokes

blood droplets splatter

(sacred scarlet dyes)

she’s tired

tired of it all

and she lets go of herself

handing it over

  wondering

 (maybe)

maybe life would have been much better

if this didn’t happen to her

and she pushes

and she can feel the wind soaring through her hair

(a faint smile)

and she can see it

closer

(her smile doesn’t waver)

and she makes impact

and our story ends.

(and so does she.)

Author's Note

What do you think about the spacing? Does it enhance the structure of the poem? How about the word choice - where does the rhythm and flow of it feel stunted, which words blend in and create a river of pure thought?