Crimson

September 12, 2008
By Dani Hillyer, Oshawa, ZZ

Does it seem like the fire is burning too brightly?
Like the moonlight changes nightly?
It is, and it does.
The light that falls among my skin bares these flaws to the world,
to my world,
to you.
It never seems dark enough,
never light enough.
Content?
Not ever, no, not me.
I find myself with too little
or too much,
pushing away and pulling in with cold hands.
I wish among stars with the knowledge
that they may already be burnt out,
leaving me wishing on empty spaces and black holes
and therefore, receiving nothing.
But the hope that the balls of fire are, in fact, real, lingers on
and I wait, as a hopeful speck, never knowing if what I wished upon was an illusion.
Why do I wish, anyhow?
I realize that these stars can not grant me such wishes,
can not give me what I need,
they can not even give off the right amount of light.
Dim down the stars, please.
I'm not comfortable showing myself to the world
Crimson does not shine brightly,
and so neither can I.


The author's comments:
I was 10-14 when I went through what I went through. Court came along, and went, and then came again. Over and over. And through those years afterwards, I buried myself in writing, drawing, and other countless activities that did me more harm then good.

This is a product from those years.
You don't need to understand it, or even care for it. But for those who do, I hope you understand a small bit of what this means. I hope you can create your own meanings for it. And most of all, I hope maybe you can even relate to atleast a small part of it.

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