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Picture Day
This poem came to me in the last few minutes.
As I lay here in my bed trying to sleep, it just came to me. I don't really know why, but I think my muse might just be nocturnal...
Strange how the best ideas, come at the worst possible times...
Hey mom.
Guess what happened at school today?
It was picture day and I wore my favorite dress.
That cute one with the bow,
and the pretty shade of blue.
I loved it so very much,
'till it got that nasty stain...
As I went to have my picture taken,
one of those boys pulled me aside.
He and his friends didn't like my dress, mom.
Not one bit...
They ripped it apart, mom.
They told me I made them sick,
That I was a freak,
And thats when it started...
Somebody threw a punch.
I tried to stand my ground,
I tried not to all, to be strong for you, mom,
But the second boy was big.
He kicked me in the chest,
and I fell on the ground..
They started to kick me, mom.
It hurt so bad.
One boy pulled out a knife,
it caught the light and shone.
He held it to my face,
but then moved it 'down there'.
His friends all laughed,
he laughed too.
But a voice made him jump,
and he cut me.
The cut was deep,
it severed things,
and when he saw his hand,
he saw what he was holding.
He did me a favor, mom.
He did what I had wanted to,
so many times before,
but never could.
As I lay there, happy,
I realized all too late,
that although I was right now,
I was going to die.
I started bleeding bad, mom,
and everything got cold.
I could feel icy wind all over,
and I got real scared, mom.
The boys all went running,
'cuz a man came to see,
who this bleeding little girl was.
That little girl, was me.
And thats why, mom,
I didn't come home from school.
But don't worry, mom.
Everything is fine now.
My dress isn't even stained anymore...
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Comments
Sorry for any bad grammer...
Or any punctuation mistakes or things like that.
It's a bit late here.
And I'll probably get yelled at for putting this in the fiction section... but,
I think it fits appropriately because I've seen large poetry like this in the fiction section before...
Poetry and Fiction
I realize I could be mistaken about this, but I believe poetry is allowed to be submitted as fiction. I'm assuming that because there's a 'Verse' selection in the 'Publication' field of the 'Submit Fiction' page. Even if that selection wasn't available, I still think there wouldn't be a problem submitting your poem as fiction, since it does tell a story, and a very moving one at that.
Heather Rose Brown :)
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Outside of a dog, a book is man's best friend.
Inside of a dog it's too dark to read.
Groucho Marx
PS: I just checked an online thesaurus to make sure, and 'verse' does look like it's a synonym for 'poem'.
Powerful Stuff!
What else can I say?
hugs,
Angharad.
Angharad
Thanks!
For the comments!
It makes me feel good that people actually respond.
When I put poetry up anywhere else I get no responses at all.
But here people actually like to respond to things like this!
Thanks to everyone who read this (almost 100 reads in a few hours, WOW!)
and please leave comments! Even if it is just to say how it made you feel, I like feedback on my writing!
Much Love!
~Dannielle
Ouch!
He/she must have survived if she wrote this or is this a message from beyond the grave? The *passing on* warning and the odd line about the dress suggest death.
Good to see you contributing. Good to see the BC family grow.
John in Wauwatosa
John in Wauwatosa
Yep!
Its supposed to be a beyond the grave thing, like the commercials against drunk driving where the girl is talking to her mom about how she didn't drink and drive, but some other guy did and she got hit and dies but the guy only got a few scratches....
Glad to be contributing, I had a bit of writers block for a few weeks and didn't get anything up...
Powerful indeed.
This is very moving and powerful.
hugs!
grover
Disturbing,
...and I wasn't ready for this at 5:00 this morning; groaned "Oh God" and went back to bed.
Which doesn't mean it's not excellent; and while someone might say it's morbid or laying it on too thick, it does reflects an unpleasant truth, that we seem to get murdered in numbers disproportionate to the general populace, and the irony of the fatal wound being something the victim had previously contemplated, as a "good start" or whatever (growing up, my Dad had this huge paper-cutter, like a scimitar hinged to the edge of a wooden base, and looking at it I would always flash on- well you know, but luckily sanity prevailed...); and the whole thing being addressed to her Mom, who either is or is about to be totally devastated; and the allusions to an afterlife, where stains & imperfections of all sorts are remedied, well it's just heartbreaking, which I'm sure is what you set out to do. Good poem, and I don't see why poetry should be ghettoized off with the blogs. They're literature if anything is. And........Oh God that poor kid! I'm going back to bed...
~~~hugs, LAIKA
What borders on pure insanity?
Canada and Mexico.
.
It is my late...
Addition to the long list of things done for the transgender day of remembrance.
I had wanted to write something so bad for that day, but couldn't come up with ANYTHING!
So, this is just my very belated addition.
Its one of those things that people don't think could happen to younger kids, except I remember that at that age kids would have knife fights behind classrooms at lunch...
I did hope that this was one of those very sobering poems that sorta grabs you by the pants (or lack thereof) and hauls you over to the bleak reality of life.
That one was almost a
That one was almost a song.
A sad and terrible one.
Yoron.