a, perfect. poem

April 17, 2012
By snowybutterfly DIAMOND, Fremont, California
snowybutterfly DIAMOND, Fremont, California
59 articles 1 photo 8 comments

Favorite Quote:
Gold teeth, Grey Goose, tripping in the bathroom, blood stains, ball gowns, trashing the hotel room, we don't care, we're driving Cadillacs in our dreams --Lorde

I have a confession.
It’s a problem that
only a rich girl could have
and I probably should
shut my pretty little
mouth up and go
socialize instead of
complaining about what
you want. But I won’t.
I am too perfect.
I do the right things always,
people say that “you
can count on her” and
nothing else. My personality
feels like a canvas, painted
and ripped and cried over
and sang to and stretched
out, until it was nearly
and then re-stretched
onto a new frame
and painted with an
inexplicably painful
snow color.
and now I have
no song of the heart
to share, no hopes or
dreams to scatter to
the people on the ground
I have no heartbreak,
no sadness, no long
deep scratches to show
that I have lived a life.
Somebody washed my
past and folded it
and locked it up away,
somewhere, so I
don’t even know if my skin
is white or black.
And now, if you’ll excuse
me, I think that I should
be crying delicately into a
lacy white handkerchief
right about now.

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This article has 1 comment.

leafy said...
on Sep. 22 2012 at 10:59 pm
leafy, City, Other
0 articles 0 photos 682 comments

Favorite Quote:
Gil: I would like you to read my novel and get your opinion. 
Ernest Hemingway: I hate it. 
Gil: You haven't even read it yet. 
Ernest Hemingway: If it's bad, I'll hate it. If it's good, then I'll be envious and hate it even more. You don't want the opinion of another writer. 

I pretty much feel the same way.

Beautiful poem, by the way, so eloquently written.

...but I still think you would look awesome with a sleeve of tattoos ;)


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