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Literature Text
She may be broken, but I love her all the same.
Manufactured in 1986, she's the only one of her kind.
I used to feed her gummy bears and juice boxes, but now it's steak and carbonated beverages.
Instead of jumpropes and teddy bears, she now carries scripts and cameras.
The corners of her mouth have come undone, and the seams now droop down to her chin.
The eyes that had twinkled so brightly seem to be dimming to a soft glow.
The heart that had been filled to the brim with love for her family has started to shrivel.
I can tell that careless errors and broken promises have seeped into her ears -- filling her head with all sorts of nonsense.
A lie for every hair upon her head, her soul has been completely trampled.
What good is a photographic memory if there's nothing to remember?
Things just got so blurry -- nothing is clear to her any more.
She's the one dancing with an umbrella...talking to herself in hopes of remembering what it's like to be alive.
She hides behind a blanket of metaphors, but they'll never keep her warm.
Artificially sweetened thoughts dance across the page and flowery words taunt her by hiding on the tip of her tongue.
Reality is a hard pill to swallow.
It attaches itself to the inside of your throat, moving aside only for your choking coughs.
Sipping imagination from a champagne glass, reality loosens itself and wanders aimlessly through your body.
With that being said, it's only fair to inform you that she has not yet filled her prescription.
She was born on a crescent moon,
Lives in the arms of the sun,
And hopes that one day she'll be invited to play tag among the stars.
Foggy dreams and steamy encounters rest within her girlish figure.
Freckles and scars tickle her skin, but I've yet to hear her laugh.
Manufactured in 1986, she's the only one of her kind.
I used to feed her gummy bears and juice boxes, but now it's steak and carbonated beverages.
Instead of jumpropes and teddy bears, she now carries scripts and cameras.
The corners of her mouth have come undone, and the seams now droop down to her chin.
The eyes that had twinkled so brightly seem to be dimming to a soft glow.
The heart that had been filled to the brim with love for her family has started to shrivel.
I can tell that careless errors and broken promises have seeped into her ears -- filling her head with all sorts of nonsense.
A lie for every hair upon her head, her soul has been completely trampled.
What good is a photographic memory if there's nothing to remember?
Things just got so blurry -- nothing is clear to her any more.
She's the one dancing with an umbrella...talking to herself in hopes of remembering what it's like to be alive.
She hides behind a blanket of metaphors, but they'll never keep her warm.
Artificially sweetened thoughts dance across the page and flowery words taunt her by hiding on the tip of her tongue.
Reality is a hard pill to swallow.
It attaches itself to the inside of your throat, moving aside only for your choking coughs.
Sipping imagination from a champagne glass, reality loosens itself and wanders aimlessly through your body.
With that being said, it's only fair to inform you that she has not yet filled her prescription.
She was born on a crescent moon,
Lives in the arms of the sun,
And hopes that one day she'll be invited to play tag among the stars.
Foggy dreams and steamy encounters rest within her girlish figure.
Freckles and scars tickle her skin, but I've yet to hear her laugh.
I had a lot of spare time today, so I wrote "this here poem." Some of it describes me, but a good majority of it is simply poetry for the sake of poetry.
© 2004 - 2024 dramatics
Comments13
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She's the one dancing with an umbrella...talking to herself in hopes of remembering what it's like to be alive.
I like this line. Provoke's thought.
I like this line. Provoke's thought.