Quick Streaks

The rain falls quickly outside

and turns the sky a grey

that matches the shade of my sweater.

As depressing as it looks,

I still catch myself gazing

(blankly starring)out the window.

A woman drones on

about the importance of the work

I’ll be doing the rest of my life

but I cannot pay attention.

The quick streaks of white

that dash through my line of view

get me thinking; get me wondering

what am I doing with my life?

The days are dashing by

like the streaks of rain from the sky,

but unlike those cold, fat raindrops

I am not heading for a destination.

I am sitting at a desk wondering

what am I doing with my life?

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Light Switches

When I was a little girl,

I used to play with the light switches.

I made it a personal goal

to try to balance a switch right in the middle,

but it was never possible.

It always had to be slightly more up

or slightly more down.

It could never be perfectly evened out.

Yet, I pursued my goal

and constantly tried to correct it.

When the switch would waiver,

I’d try to reposition it.

This led to a lot of ups and downs

and a period of time where

the light would flicker on and off

until I finally would give up

and turn the lights off.

These last few days I have

felt like I am this lightswitch

being played with by a child.

I want neither up nor down.

I want to be centered,

but I have little flickers of

extreme emotions that appear

at a moments notice.

It’s a lot of ups and downs.

Balance is unobtainable.

I’m growing bored from

trying to control my light switch.

I think it’s time to turn out the light,

 

 

 

I Wish I Was Pretty

I wish I was pretty.

Guys always go for the pretty girls.

They never settle for girls that are nice.

If they’re both that’s a plus,

but it’s never just because they’re nice.

I wish I was pretty,

but I’m not. I’m the nice girl.

I get overlooked because I’m not enough.

I wish I was pretty

so I could finally be good enough

to deserve to be loved.

 

 

Wattpad

Hi there!

Are any of you guys also Wattpad users? I’m curious to know. I have an account on there with several books I’ve written over the years and some of my very early poetry.  Some of it is not very good because my grammar was atrocious in high school, but I’m slowly going through it and revising it.

Anywho, I’m bringing this up because I recently entered a writing competition on the app and could use some more votes. If anyone is interested in helping me out or even just checking it out let me know. You guys are wonderfully supportive of my writing on here and I would love it if that support could transfer to my novel writing as well. Thank you.

First Graders

First graders are great.

so full of joy and laughter

and ready to learn.

I Cannot Be Skinny

I hate that I can workout everyday,

literally until I’d collapse if I worked any more

and yet I cannot be skinny.

 

I hate that I can eat all the right things

or consume just enough calories a day to survive

and yet I cannot be skinny.

 

I Wish

I wish I was pretty

I wish I was thinner.

I wish I had the body that boys go for.

I wish I didn’t have stretch marks.

I wish for a flat tummy.

I wish I didn’t hate myself when I look in a mirror.

I wish for a boyfriend.

I wish for someone to love me.

I wish I’d stop getting hurt.

 

On My Own

Maybe living on

my own would be easier

if I could cook things.

If You Could Have One Thing

“If you could have one thing

in the whole wide world,

what would it be?

Some people will say wealth.

Some people might say happiness.

Some others might say love,

while others want their dreams.

But for me, if I could

have one thing out of the

billions of choices at hand,

I would choose you because

then I could have it all.

My dreams would come true.

I could finally feel love

and experience happiness

that would make me feel

like the wealthiest girl

to ever exist.

But I can’t have you.

It’s just a silly game

and a stupid question.

I can’t have what I want

most of all because

you’d have to want me too.

This Place is Not a Home

This place is not a home.

It’s a war zone. It’s hell.

It’s full of people on edge,

people walking on eggshells

trying to avoid another fight,

but someone always cracks

because how can you not be angry?

This place is unhealthy.

This place is not a home.

 

This place is not a home.

This place is emotionally abusive.

You can’t share your feelings

or your true thoughts because

the tyrant will scream at you

until to submit to his way

and are terrorized into giving up.

The “man” of the house

is not a man at all

but a dictator who admitted

just last week in fact

that nothing gets done around here

unless he intimidates us

and that’s just how he likes it.

This place is run by a bully.

This place is not a home.

 

This place is not a home,

it’s barely a step above a dump.

Bathrooms are falling apart.

floors are rotting through

and tiles are shattered.

Carpets are permentaly stained

and in desperate need of a vacuum.

There hasn’t been a working light

in the kitchen in the better part

of half a decade, maybe more.

Things are broken, but not replaced.

Just put off until it becomes an “issue”,

whatever that’s supposed to mean.

Junk is piled up everywhere

that we’re expected to just live around.

There are paths but no space.

This is not a living space.

This place is not a home.