Poem: question marks
short crap of a piece
---------------------
Why did it always seem that the thing I shouldn't have been thinking about was the first on my mind?
I sighed, staring at the pavement as I balanced on the curb. Brushing a strand of hair behind my ear, I glanced over at him and the rest of the goons. They hung around the same place everyday, in the middle of the park, loitering on the merry-go-round. Adjusting my bookbag, I averted my eyes, but eventually, they drifted back to him.
He was good-looking enough, with unruly dark hair and big brown eyes, but it was him as a person that really got to me. He was kind, and lacked whatever gene it was that made the rest of those goons so cruel. And he was the only one who noticed me.
I was often the subject of ridicule, the one with the dyed black hair, the band t-shirts, the colds smile for whoever it was that had succumbed to the empty promises of being accepted. No, I was a solitary being for the most part, giving into ice, embracing fire, not really anyone, yet everyone. Supposedly, there was a theory beyond all of thise. Mom called it "reverse psychology". I begged to differ. I wasn't how I was because she told me not to me. This was ME. She'd just have to deal with that.
My journal was my best friend. Amongst the few friends I had (most of which were inanimate objects), it was definitely my favorite. My sister found it once. I had left it sitting with my Algebra homework on the kitchen table, hoping it would be discreet enough to pass as my notebook. I was wrong. She started reading it and when I finally caught her, she was more than halfway through, her blue eyes the size of dinner plates, as if it were a real surprise that behind such a passive face, there was such a corrupt mind, filled with stagnant envy, cold hatred, and passionate love. In that one moment when our eyes met, we finally understood each other. She never told a soul.
I dropped my bag, sitting down on the grass in the parkway. It was quieter here, none of the guys could see me watching them. But I was hoping he would see me. He was one of the only people I felt comfortable talking to.
We'd met two years ago, though it seemed like twelve, in the fifth grade. We were almost exactly the opposite of who we were now. I had been the right hand of the most popular girl in school. He had been a geek who was more intelligent than his goon friends' high egos could ever make him out to be. We werre both on the soccer field. I was alone, as my "best friend" was out sick with the flu, and I didn't feel comfortable around the other girls without her. He was standing, leaning against a goal post, sketching in a small notebook. He seemed nice enough, so I walked over, and in that single moment, lost my position as the second most popular girl in school, though I didn't know it then.
He and I talked for a while and we had more in common than one might have though and we became fast friends. He taught me a lot about who I was. And I realized that I didn't care to be popular, I just wanted to be me. Who was I? He helped me to find that too.
But I was now in a position where the popular kids wanted to drain any happiness that I could have in my life, and the did - because they took him. They stole him, they took him without permission. And they drowned him. They drowned him in all the superficiality of being cool. They destroyed him in what was in style. They killed him with popularity, and held me back so I couldn't save him.
And I fell rapidly into a darkness that I had yet to escape. We did still talk sometimes, whenever we could, and I'd listen closely to anything he said, locking it away in my heart, telling myself that the real him would realize what an idiot he was being and come back to me, and we'd be losers together. But after two years, I'd given up hope. He was gone. He'd never come back. After all this time longing for him to be my journal, be my best friend, I'd lost myself. I was a shadow, but less than that. I was mist, so invisible, so cold, so sad. No one could make me disappear, but they all wanted me to. No one could make me stay, because I went with the wind, I flew away. And there was no way to get me back. I was lost.
Quite honestly, I'd wandered mindlessly before he came and stumbled blindly after he was gone. I was nothing without him. I suppose it was love. I suppose it was there all along, I suppose we both felt it. But just turning eleven, in the fifth grade, how were we to know? We knew nothing. Mostly I was cloaked in insipidt whenever he was away. He made my life interesting, he made it worth living. And I never did tell him that, I figured I'd have forever, and to my surprise, the "preppies" took him over.
I suppose when you realize that superficiality sucks, you can leave and not return to it. I guess somewhere in my mind, I knew it was stupid, there was no point, it wasn't right. I let the thought slip. I liked everyone liking me. But they never really liked me. They liked how I looked, what I stood for. I stood for likeness. And now I stood to differ.
But he was gone, in a blink and a sigh. So, in my most loving thoughts, goodbye.
---------------------
Why did it always seem that the thing I shouldn't have been thinking about was the first on my mind?
I sighed, staring at the pavement as I balanced on the curb. Brushing a strand of hair behind my ear, I glanced over at him and the rest of the goons. They hung around the same place everyday, in the middle of the park, loitering on the merry-go-round. Adjusting my bookbag, I averted my eyes, but eventually, they drifted back to him.
He was good-looking enough, with unruly dark hair and big brown eyes, but it was him as a person that really got to me. He was kind, and lacked whatever gene it was that made the rest of those goons so cruel. And he was the only one who noticed me.
I was often the subject of ridicule, the one with the dyed black hair, the band t-shirts, the colds smile for whoever it was that had succumbed to the empty promises of being accepted. No, I was a solitary being for the most part, giving into ice, embracing fire, not really anyone, yet everyone. Supposedly, there was a theory beyond all of thise. Mom called it "reverse psychology". I begged to differ. I wasn't how I was because she told me not to me. This was ME. She'd just have to deal with that.
My journal was my best friend. Amongst the few friends I had (most of which were inanimate objects), it was definitely my favorite. My sister found it once. I had left it sitting with my Algebra homework on the kitchen table, hoping it would be discreet enough to pass as my notebook. I was wrong. She started reading it and when I finally caught her, she was more than halfway through, her blue eyes the size of dinner plates, as if it were a real surprise that behind such a passive face, there was such a corrupt mind, filled with stagnant envy, cold hatred, and passionate love. In that one moment when our eyes met, we finally understood each other. She never told a soul.
I dropped my bag, sitting down on the grass in the parkway. It was quieter here, none of the guys could see me watching them. But I was hoping he would see me. He was one of the only people I felt comfortable talking to.
We'd met two years ago, though it seemed like twelve, in the fifth grade. We were almost exactly the opposite of who we were now. I had been the right hand of the most popular girl in school. He had been a geek who was more intelligent than his goon friends' high egos could ever make him out to be. We werre both on the soccer field. I was alone, as my "best friend" was out sick with the flu, and I didn't feel comfortable around the other girls without her. He was standing, leaning against a goal post, sketching in a small notebook. He seemed nice enough, so I walked over, and in that single moment, lost my position as the second most popular girl in school, though I didn't know it then.
He and I talked for a while and we had more in common than one might have though and we became fast friends. He taught me a lot about who I was. And I realized that I didn't care to be popular, I just wanted to be me. Who was I? He helped me to find that too.
But I was now in a position where the popular kids wanted to drain any happiness that I could have in my life, and the did - because they took him. They stole him, they took him without permission. And they drowned him. They drowned him in all the superficiality of being cool. They destroyed him in what was in style. They killed him with popularity, and held me back so I couldn't save him.
And I fell rapidly into a darkness that I had yet to escape. We did still talk sometimes, whenever we could, and I'd listen closely to anything he said, locking it away in my heart, telling myself that the real him would realize what an idiot he was being and come back to me, and we'd be losers together. But after two years, I'd given up hope. He was gone. He'd never come back. After all this time longing for him to be my journal, be my best friend, I'd lost myself. I was a shadow, but less than that. I was mist, so invisible, so cold, so sad. No one could make me disappear, but they all wanted me to. No one could make me stay, because I went with the wind, I flew away. And there was no way to get me back. I was lost.
Quite honestly, I'd wandered mindlessly before he came and stumbled blindly after he was gone. I was nothing without him. I suppose it was love. I suppose it was there all along, I suppose we both felt it. But just turning eleven, in the fifth grade, how were we to know? We knew nothing. Mostly I was cloaked in insipidt whenever he was away. He made my life interesting, he made it worth living. And I never did tell him that, I figured I'd have forever, and to my surprise, the "preppies" took him over.
I suppose when you realize that superficiality sucks, you can leave and not return to it. I guess somewhere in my mind, I knew it was stupid, there was no point, it wasn't right. I let the thought slip. I liked everyone liking me. But they never really liked me. They liked how I looked, what I stood for. I stood for likeness. And now I stood to differ.
But he was gone, in a blink and a sigh. So, in my most loving thoughts, goodbye.
posted by ~Allie~ @ 6:03 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home