DiamondMaverick
Bluelighter
I wrote this when I was sixteen. I'm 22 now and trying to get back into writing again.
The last sparks of a fiery sun
fly orange onto a bloody sky.
It looks like the end of the world
because too many people died today.
Their blood circulates through the wind patterns
whispering to the world
that more life
ceases to exist.
Turning from the window leaves me
faced with too many situations,
so I find faces in the sea of red
and think about falling deep
into my mother’s new soft
white sofa
where I hear her compare me
to countless others
and speaking of sluts
whores
and prevention tips.
Stay away from the
short tops
and
too tight jeans...
they will surely lead you to
lustful men
that will abuse your
beautiful body.
Be good.
Anything appealing to you is bad.
There are probably
A million more.
Some good,
some not.
They are forgotten too quickly
anyway
and only suffice
in hurting my feelings.
And suddenly,
the soft white couch
becomes
unbearably uncomfortable.
The plush black carpet
itches my bare feet
and the sears advertisement
on the coffee table
becomes increasingly
interesting.
No on seems to understand
that my virginity
is my best friend
and until
someone becomes closer
to me
than that,
in my pocket she stays.
Sixteen is too hard.
Almost a woman,
but really not
that at all.
Passion, joy,
and tears
being too powerful
to share the same body,
wage a war
that rips you open,
causing you to bleed the loser.
Too many times passion
is the victor
and joy and tears
trail far
behind.
All I want is to love
and be loved,
smile
without having to cry later,
and move on
from this silly age.
Staring at they sky,
I fling out this question...
Why is sixteen
so hard?
But this time that sky
regards me not with blood,
which has faded
with the coming
of the night,
but azure eyes
that hold me
in the light of its
one star
that has just begun
to shine.
It kisses me with
warm lips
then blends me
into the night...
Cars,
crickets,
clouds,
and Amarys.
The last sparks of a fiery sun
fly orange onto a bloody sky.
It looks like the end of the world
because too many people died today.
Their blood circulates through the wind patterns
whispering to the world
that more life
ceases to exist.
Turning from the window leaves me
faced with too many situations,
so I find faces in the sea of red
and think about falling deep
into my mother’s new soft
white sofa
where I hear her compare me
to countless others
and speaking of sluts
whores
and prevention tips.
Stay away from the
short tops
and
too tight jeans...
they will surely lead you to
lustful men
that will abuse your
beautiful body.
Be good.
Anything appealing to you is bad.
There are probably
A million more.
Some good,
some not.
They are forgotten too quickly
anyway
and only suffice
in hurting my feelings.
And suddenly,
the soft white couch
becomes
unbearably uncomfortable.
The plush black carpet
itches my bare feet
and the sears advertisement
on the coffee table
becomes increasingly
interesting.
No on seems to understand
that my virginity
is my best friend
and until
someone becomes closer
to me
than that,
in my pocket she stays.
Sixteen is too hard.
Almost a woman,
but really not
that at all.
Passion, joy,
and tears
being too powerful
to share the same body,
wage a war
that rips you open,
causing you to bleed the loser.
Too many times passion
is the victor
and joy and tears
trail far
behind.
All I want is to love
and be loved,
smile
without having to cry later,
and move on
from this silly age.
Staring at they sky,
I fling out this question...
Why is sixteen
so hard?
But this time that sky
regards me not with blood,
which has faded
with the coming
of the night,
but azure eyes
that hold me
in the light of its
one star
that has just begun
to shine.
It kisses me with
warm lips
then blends me
into the night...
Cars,
crickets,
clouds,
and Amarys.
