All-American Apples

one of my attempts at poetry. -enjoy-

 

“I’m the sick one

not Her, She’s fine

it’s Me

I’m the sick one,”

Wrote the crying girl

Who didn’t believe it

 

She was lying to herself

Lies that turned her into her mother

But yet she was the sick one

Not her

 

 “It’s always been me”

Her pen sobbed

“She’s happy

I’ve robbed her of her happy

Why can’t I be happy?

My happy”

The lost girl wrote

 

This was a cry for help

Everything had been a cry for help

her Arms

her Sides

Fifty-Two

Fifty-Two

A cry for help

 

The wave broke above her head

And she crumbled by the wayside

A shell of her former self stood looking down

 

“Pitiful” she spat

And turned with a vengeance

going off to check her Apple Pies

her Red Gingham apron swirling behind her

Whispering her thoughts

“You chose This.

this was Your choice.

you could have had Me”

 

“But I didn’t choose this

I don’t want you”

The crumpled shadow shrieked

 

But the waves kept breaking

singing of their Happiness

Destructiveness

Amplifying her pain

 

“All I want is to forget

Make me forget”

Subtract the clothes

Divide the legs

“Make me forget

Make me forget”

 

And at the climax of her pain

When all she could do was pull her hair

And bear down

Everything quieted

 

The waves stopped breaking

And the water receded

The gingham stopped whispering

And the pies were eaten

then She returned

 

“Excuse me, mister”

She said to someone that wasn’t there

“Is this the lost and found?

I believe you’ve found my soul

It was fun without it

But now I want it back”

 

Then she dropped her head

And said

“I don’t like Apples”

Reviews

[Vivica Heart]

Oh wow.
That is...
That's beautiful.
The pain and suffering... I can feel it...
This poem is amazing.
Definitely a new favorite of mine.
:]