Bruises on my heart

• Halloween and mommy dressed up like a witch
• Sixth grade bullies
• Being too nice to people
• Hitting puberty way too early
• Getting a 15 on the ACT
• boys
• broken promises
• Mom forgetting me at Disneyland
• Dad yelling
• Doctor offices
• Being told I was too fat for the part
• not smart enough
• can't reach perfection
• too shy for my own good
• the average of the bunch

the half of a second

It's the way you look at me now that scares me the most

Because maybe for the half of second you know that maybe

A glimmer of a chance that it's for real

That it isn't some high school sweet heart

But the real kind of love

The painful kind

The kind you don't dare imagine living without

The mind reading kind

The play basketball until we can't breath

The raw kind

Because you know every inch of every thought

The hugs that feel like home

The dates that feel effortless

Because you are home

 

i just might be human

In the smallest of touch

In the Memories of homemade Bread


























To the wonders I see

In these moments I just might feel a little more human

 

I love you nana

People talk about their grandmothers like they’re saints

I’ve thought about standing up and screaming bull crap

My Nana is no saint, no, not one at all

I might dare say she is the opposite

They are no happy holidays with the women of the pills

There is no happy memory in finding your Grandmother higher than a kit

 They say insanity is contagious and Oh Boy is that true

How can I love a women that has brought upon much of mother’s heartache

So tell me one more time I should let this women into my heart

No Mam, she is no saint       

Insanity is contagious and I will not be the product of these choices of that women

I am not a product of my family’s wrong doings

No sir, I am not

I will stand strong in the face of that women

Because she the product of her families wrong doing

But I will sit quietly and say yes mam, I love my grandmother but only in the memories of the past  

IN COLOR

People ask about the juice box days expecting it to be the gold over the rainbow

I hate when people assume that

Whenever the adults bring it up I always ask about the economy, they like that question

What they don't know is that one question brings in color of the memories, the emotion

It comes in red as bloody noses at night crying so hard my little heart seemed to bleed out

Then blue when the rainy days came in and I knew I was done for

Purple the color of that stupid doctor’s office

Orange the color of the summer sun and swings

I like swings, I can fly on swings

Yellow the color of my favorite dress that I wore when Mommy told me I get more sad then most kids

Pink the color of the crayon the doctor told me to draw on the white paper.

Green the color of the tree in my back yard I would spend hours looking for lady bugs

I liked being by myself, it was better than being at the doctor’s office

Mommy told me to talk about my feelings

I didn't want to because ten year olds don't talk about the meaning of life

Simply because they are living the meaning of it

 

 But I never liked juice boxes, they made my stomach hurt

 

 

 

 

 

the girl sitting next to you

her innocent was stripped away at a very young age

her view of herself was only what her piers told her to be

the others told her they would come after her

not in the black hood that everyone could see

but the thieves in the night

talking her humanity by the spoon full

she woke up looking in the mirror realizing the darkness in her eyes

the absents of light

they took the with the words

the sword of the tough

she did not know the meaning of this

all she knew was that the words did not mean well

she became the words, whatever the children told her what they meant

when they did not know the meaning themselves

the lies to both herself and the others where now truth

 she became "they", then used the retched vocabulary back

They Told Me NO

They told me sense I was young writing will never be my forte, nor will my intellectual abilities. But here I am today standing strong in the face of the world. I feel there is something that I will unlock within myself throughout these writings. I want to be good, but does that mean it will happen, of course not. So with my writing you will find flaws or beauty in my resistance of complete failure. You will find I will not take NO for an answer. Is that so wrong? I don't think so. In fact I don't find it wrong at all.

-Lucille