My words can’t seem to fall out, as you touch my lips.
I look into your deep blue eyes, as I type this now.
My mind,
telling me to stop,
but my hands,
flying over the keys.
Well,
not flying,
my fingers have lost their grace,
and smooth agility,
and what was now a beautiful song of clicks and
hard nails hitting the plastic,
is an awkward jumble,
of fingers pressing first,
a T-
no wait,
A comes first.
My thoughts pierce my common sense,
and demand to be heard,
even surging through my sudden incompetence,
in the skill I once reveled at.
But I continue anyway,
and I start my poem,
for it is my painting.

She is not quite sure how to tell him,
for where should she start?
At the start perhaps,
but where exactly is that?
She decides,
to tell him,
through paper.
It is what she is good at after all.

The Whiteboard

She walks into school,
her first day,
freshmen.
Among the other,
milling and buzzing students.
She tries to fit in,
in the weeks that follow.
She laughs at what they laugh,
and cry when they cry.
She doesn’t look much beyond her circle,
of safety,
and belonging.
For sharks swim around her island,
but on it,
she is untouchable,
as long as she never steps off.
Until she does.
It was an accident,
she cries over and over to herself one night.
It was just an accident.
But a shark,
doesn’t forgive and forget.
It doesn’t let you go,
and nothing has ever escaped.
Her island,
no longer wants her anymore.
Her friends,
her circle,
decides to surrender,
rather than fight.
And so she,
never stands a chance against the circling group,
of monsters,
that multiply in numbers every day.
And then it starts.
There is no easing into the pain,
no small incidents,
that gradually increase in humiliation and number.
They hit her hard.
She sobs for hours every night,
willing the words,
and sneers,
and laughter,
and taunting to go away.
She is innocent to this world,
and it’s ways.
Like a clean slate,
a new whiteboard.
And they scribble all over her,
with their permanent markers,
(too mean to use Expo)
and she is,
helpless to their abuse.
Wishing that she could erase all of it,
so she vows,
to become stronger,
smarter,
better.
And when they push her,
she pushes back.
When they tease her,
she replies,
as snarkily as she can.
For a while,
it works.
Their meaningless words,
are scrawled all over her board,
but she wipes them away,
and moves on.
Knowing that if she doesn’t,
it will eat her alive.
But after time,
she can still see the marks,
light,
and faint,
but there.
The eraser,
is still as good as new,
but the board,
even though it is clean,
will never be as white,
and as new as it was in the beginning.
Look closely,
and see,
the hidden scars.
Because as much as she wipes,
as much as she denies,
some ink,
some words, will still be there.

She doesn’t need the pity,
she tells him.
For they are battle scars,
not scars to be worn with shame.
A defiant look is given.

They are suddenly interrupted,
when her little sister,
comes rushing in through the door.
“Hey sis,”
She says-
she stops when she sees her big sister and him in deep thought.
With a shrug,
she heads back to her room.
Sighing,
she falls onto the bed,
almost tripping over a box,
poking out from underneath her bed.
On it,
a white scratched poem,
with deep meaning,
and thoughtful thoughts.
Titled,

Blackboard

Long sleeves conceal scarred wrists
black jeans hide unshaved legs
-for why should you even bother?
You don’t look anyone in the eye
not because you are afraid of them
but because you are afraid of yourself
And how you will scare them

Broken
you don’t bother to hide your pain
It does not swell
deep inside of you like a raging monster
fighting to be released
but drowns you
smothering you
until you almost don’t want to breathe
Black tears torn clothes no makeup red blood scarred skin

Time heals pain
but this
it will never heal
This can never be healed

There used to be rare moments
after doing something wrong
there would be times when you remembered it detail
every emotion
every face
and you would feel the pain rush over you
for a minute
or ten
unbearably
but you would forget about the painful moment
and go on moping
the way you were before

But not now
every moment
You feel the feeling
of wrong
of bad
of pain
After being in it for so long
there are moments
where
in your crazy
insane mind
a thought would emerge
that the hurt
is so bad
so breaking
that the unbearable
is now the bearable

Now
whenever a moment of hope
or notion of something other than hurt
emerges
jealousy
anger
happiness
you will it to go away
and never come back
it is not
knowing that once the feeling is gone the pain will hit twice as hard
that makes you want the feeling to go away
it is knowing
that having lived in pain for so long
how do you remember to live in something else?

So you live like this
no
not live
you die
over and over again
every day
minute
second
your mind black
and dark
as the night?
no
darker
blacker
scarier

Like a blackboard
a thought thinks
while you stare
mindlessly at the new
board
behind the teacher’s desk in class
not a smudge of white
not a scratch
Unlike you then
it thinks again
for you are scratched beyond imagination

And then it happens
“I like your shoes, they’re, chic.”
The girl next to you says
You freeze
not quite sure what to do
You haven’t spoken
like this
in a long time
“Thanks”
you manage to croak out
shocked
an emotion:
surprise
you squeeze your eyes shut
go away
go away
but it won’t until a few minutes later
by then
your thoughts are racing to the surface
and you can’t keep them down
she likes your shoes
your shoes
Your shoes!

You walk around in a daze
the rest of the day
not fully believing it
on the ride back home
you finally realize
that the hammering
heart breaking
hurting pain
is gone
no
not gone gone
it is still there
still present in the back of your mind
but her compliment
her words
are stronger
than the pain

How can that be?
How can that be?
How can that be?

It is like
that good moment
the one you feel after doing something good
pride maybe?
or taking a chance
or proving someone wrong
and the feelings are on replay
over and over

Tomorrow the pain will come again
but
you know
and you will embrace it
But deep
hidden so deep
it will never emerge
you think
that you might be
like a blackboard
and everytime
somebody writes
something good on you
(the bad won’t show, you're already all black)
you’ll remember it
never erase it
and it will stay
with you
until you have enough
white
words
to cover
your black space


She hits the last words with a dramatic flourish and sits back in her chair,
proud,
a little
Even though she knows,
it was just something
to pass the time
and take her mind
off the looming
temptation