(no subject)
Right, so- Em and I wrote a poem. It started in French class when my muse poked me into writing down two lines of a poem, but that's when the bad-ocity started. Poetry is not my strong suit usually and once I have a couple of good lines, my brain just turns off. So after I had said two lines, I passed the paper to Em and she wrote two lines. Then me, then her, etc. until we finished. This is the final poem, titled "Faded Skin".
Sparkly, green striped underwear
and red sharpie markers-
Sometimes the strangest memories are leftover
When the smells of the city fade
As the streetlights go dim
I find my way to destiny in the dark
Behind dumpsters and scattered on the pavement
there are glimmering shards of where I'm supposed to be
At first they seemed to reflect my broken dreams
but as I pieced them back together
I found scraps of myself caught between the cracks-
torn dress hems and memories I forgot to remember
Antique photographs, dusty boxes, and lost children's toys
All stacked within the attic of my mind
I find a brittle yellow wedding dress to wear
and go out in the dark, where my faded skin glows
I spin in front of my mirror, watching the dress fan out
Teak lace around my ankles and bare feet on the floor
Around the edges of the mirror, fine cracks beneath the surface make me look broken
It all means something, I suppose, but right now-
Right now, I'll spin until this brittle dress breaks as well
Or until I fracture into shards of who I was supposed to be
Sparkly, green striped underwear
and red sharpie markers-
Sometimes the strangest memories are leftover
When the smells of the city fade
As the streetlights go dim
I find my way to destiny in the dark
Behind dumpsters and scattered on the pavement
there are glimmering shards of where I'm supposed to be
At first they seemed to reflect my broken dreams
but as I pieced them back together
I found scraps of myself caught between the cracks-
torn dress hems and memories I forgot to remember
Antique photographs, dusty boxes, and lost children's toys
All stacked within the attic of my mind
I find a brittle yellow wedding dress to wear
and go out in the dark, where my faded skin glows
I spin in front of my mirror, watching the dress fan out
Teak lace around my ankles and bare feet on the floor
Around the edges of the mirror, fine cracks beneath the surface make me look broken
It all means something, I suppose, but right now-
Right now, I'll spin until this brittle dress breaks as well
Or until I fracture into shards of who I was supposed to be