Civil War

Civil War

Three girls walk,

Up the street toward me.

They're a gang,

Stuck together slithering up the street.


Suddenly I'm aware,

Of every little aspect of me.

My shirt is,

Riding up on the side.

My hair is,

Flying around like an army jet,

Unable to protect me from this battle.


My foot falls,

Short and I trip but only my mind,

Hits the dirt of the battlefield.

I look down,

To avoid it happening again and,

the daggers theyre shooting.



She's fat- her hair sucks- she's so totally not cool,

Big nose- no chin- her shoes don't match her outfit,

Man hands- walks funny- her shorts don't fit her body.


I begin to,

Yank at my clothing like I'm trying to hide them. 

I think of,

The color of my cheeks which I now feel as hot plates,

Burning my skin and boiling my face.


My purse slides,

Over and I drop my jacket.

I stop to,

Grab it but they are right upon me now.


I stand still,

Not moving to retrieve my belonging,

My dignity.


They hiss as,

They walk past and my eyes are still down.

Their eyes locked on me,

As if expecting me to lash out and,

Roar with ferocity.


They leave with,

Their posse and my strut.

Forgetting how to,

Walk once my brain has been pillaged,

I drop to,

The floor after their viscous blow.

Bleeding and alone,

I retrieve my shield from the battlefield.


I walk on,

Feeling their daggers slicing me in the,

Center of my shoulder blades.

My tattered clothes,

Hanging loosely on me now as, 

If trying to escape my company.


My eyes stay,

Down attempting to recover from the exhaustion,

Of battle.

The long empty,

Road ahead unwilling to offer,

Solace for my shredded soul.

A Thing of Beauty

A Thing of Beauty

Repressing Negative Memories

Repressing Negative Memories