The new day calls for

the admiration

and adoration

of the gorgeous,

beautiful,

lovely things

that uphold

the stems of the flowers of

trauma that still remains.

I can still smell the scarlet smoke.

A young girl looks to the closet

with

fantastic adoration of what’s to come.

Her eyes as green as the sea

can’t help but drown in love

as she thinks about how much she adores

the face behind the screen.

Fishnet stockings, checkering the knee,

a spiked choker,

black tee with white sleeves covering her arms,

a gorgeous poofy skirt that swayed with each step,

eyeshadow green like the sea

and blue like the sky,

eyeliner as pitch black as

the blood that drenched my face

and stained my eyes,

and bubblegum lip gloss.

As she flutters her eyelashes in the mirror,

she accidentally looks herself right in her eyes

and sees herself for who she truly is

for the very last time.

An unwarped image of who she is.

Images of falling through slides

and picnics with family

and hugs after each achievement,

swimming through each memory of gratitude, praise, and joy

that came with once being a child,

she sees clearly,

no filter.

She turns back to her lashes.

Those eyes have never changed

in the million times she’s looked upon them.

It’s no different this time.

Her hair drowns itself in its casual black and green dye,

the eyeliner leaves its marks around her eyes

like a knife with a blood-stained tip

ready to gouge its victim’s eyes out,

and she reapplies her bubblegum lip gloss.

The sun sets,

the sea is calm,

the sky is clear,

and life for every other person

goes on.

With one star’s death,

comes a million to the sky.

The moon soon comes,

but she does not.

Her body stands in one piece,

but her mind will never be the same.

Her eyes will never be the same again.

Her tears bleed as pitch black

as the eyeliner that fueled it.

Her room is ravaged, so that maybe, just maybe,

something can feel the pain

she did.

She burns her eyeliner in a fire,

cuts her hair so that the eyeliner will not die alone,

and uses the clothes she wore that day as fuel.

Black tears still swim down her face,

as her past burns

along with the things

she once loved.

The black blood following betrayal

drenches both our faces

in the same painful way.

And to keep a memento,

so she never forgets the last time

she could remember being herself,

she hides in her drawer

a pen of bubblegum lip gloss.

Give me hope, not despair.

Help me love, not impair.

Give me a reason to smile,

since now there's none there.

Give me strength, not lies.

Hold my hand, no goodbyes.

Love isn't as easy as they say,

and now my stomach's filled with butterflies.

Love is so strong,

yet these feelings feel so wrong.

I don't deserve her love, because I'm unlovable.

I've messed up for too long.

But she tells me that she still loves

the way I look at the stars above

with a gaze unlike

anyone else she's ever loved.

I don't know what to do.

The skies keep falling.

The stars disappear.

My vision gets darker.

Narrower.

I can't breathe.

With that being said,

with each second I feel more and more dead.

She can't still love me.

All of this is messing with my head.

Give me hope, help me breathe.

Help me love, help me see

that her stand is still right there for me,

waiting to be held.

So come,

let's have some tea.

Constant guilt.

Constant hatred.

Constant shame.

I’ve always hated you.

You live your life like a star.

Happy. Successful. Modeling.

A king. The board is laid out in your favor.

While all the pieces you knocked off the board

still feel like the ground beneath them

is rumbling.

You’ve hurt someone many years younger,

and never once felt like

apologizing was the right thing

to do.

You only cared about

checkmate.

Because at the end of the day,

the people you hold tight,

they’re all just pawns.

And all of it is just a game to you.

Just a game of chess,

where we’re all pawns,

and you have all the queens.

And you’ve had us in check since turn one.

Just take my king.

At least then,

I don’t have to play your game any more,

or worry about

winning or losing.

Hello. I haven't posted in quite a while.

I'm currently in the process of writing a poem, or two. When I'll post them, I'm not sure. Maybe today. Maybe tomorrow. Or a week. Or six months. Or never. I never really maintain a consistent schedule for anything I do.

I'm taking a creative writing course at school. From my observations, it is not a class where much is taught, and all that is given are simply extremely vague prompts. However, it might be a way for me to reignite my writing.

Until then, to whoever reads this, thank you for reading this ^_^

You've only had eyes for

the orange sherbet.

You've never wanted vanilla or chocolate

You've never wanted rocky road or strawberry

The thought of the sensation

of just your tongue being near these flavors

is disgusting to you.

No, ice cream is boring

for someone like you.

There's only one flavor that

you'd ever let yourself dine to.

You've only had eyes for

the orange sherbet.

Everyone else is satisfied

with the same old, same old

But you've always wanted

something more than that.

Orange sherbet was the only thing

you could stand.

You weren't like the others,

that were satisfied with

tasteless things

like vanilla

chocolate

rocky road

strawberry

I've always wanted to

know what orange sherbet tastes like,

but vanilla is all I know.

When I first met you,

I could tell that you were on the type of high

that only someone who had but a taste of freedom

could feel.

I wanted orange sherbet,

but I was scared of tasting a flavor

that wasn't just plain.

But you showed me tiny scoops

of what it could be like

to have tasted the same tastes

that you have.

You offer me flavors

that I hadn't known before.

Now, I only have eyes for

the orange sherbet

which you gave me a sample of.

Vanilla, chocolate

Rocky road, strawberry

I can't have these anymore

without knowing there's something better

You once told me that

if you could fly

you'd fly into a different world,

where people weren't just satisfied

by something so tasteless like vanilla.

Perhaps I've already had my tastes

of extravagant flavors, though.

I've tried to convince myself that

I've had flavors as special as orange sherbet

But no, it's only been

French vanilla.

After realizing that,

since then, I've only had eyes for

orange sherbet.

Only having had vanilla,

French vanilla was extravagant to me.

Only having had orange sherbet,

French vanilla was vile to you.

You threw up so many times,

and I couldn't help but want to know why.

Everyone said French vanilla was

exotic, lavish

I wanted to know why

you just couldn't handle a scoop.

After just one free sample from you,

I could see why.

My eyes opened up

and I began to understand

the flavors at my disposal.

It feels so hard,

watching you go away

like it was just a memory.

But I'll always remember

the orange sherbet.

Maybe one day I'll be able to

have my tastes synched up with yours,

so I can just know what

it tastes like.

Orange sherbet isn't sold very often,

but seeing how much you liked it

makes me want to do the same.

I'll have to stick with French vanilla

for a while.

I can't enjoy the flavor any more,

but one day, I'll find a store

that has it in its collection: orange sherbet.

Maybe then,

I'll be just a bit like you.

You once said if you could fly,

you'd fly into a different world

where people weren't just satisfied

by something so tasteless like vanilla.

Or French vanilla.

Or chocolate, or rocky road, or strawberry.

After all, you've only had eyes for

orange sherbet.

If I could fly,

I would promise to reserve

just a bit of that special flavor

for myself.

Not French vanilla.

Not chocolate, not rocky road, not strawberry.

Now, I only have eyes for

orange sherbet.

Hey.

This is my first post on Prose. Possibly my only post.

I wrote something long for this originally, but decided against it. Such a long post wouldn't leave a good first impression.

I plan on trying out prose and poetry for the first time. It's something I've always wanted to do.

Whether you wanna stick around is up to you!