The Poetry Marathon

She knows they call her a freak
But no one else seems to listen
When the trees decide to speak.

So who better than the girl in the blue skirt?
Bright-eyed, kindhearted, unafraid,
Always ready to listen, always covered in dirt.

The trees don't care 
About her dirt covered skirt
Or even when she has twigs in her hair.

The air was hot and thrumming
When the trees told her
"Listen, a storm is coming."


(this is about a book i read when i was much younger)

I'm not original
I never was original
You might think I'm different
But I'm just conventional
In a way you're not used to
That doesn't make me original.

Does this hair make me pretty?
Does it make you uncomfortable?
I hope it makes you nervous,
'Cause I don't want you to talk to me
That's not original
It's the same as everybody.

Maybe I am traumatized,
Or maybe I'm just whining
I feel like I'm gonna cry
God I hope it starts raining.

I want to be original
I want people to look at me and say,
"God I want to be like them,
They're just so inspiring."

I just want to be myself,
But I don't know who "myself" is.
I want to be a superstar
I want to be nobody.

Fingers deftly dance
Clicking across clacking keys
Nothing comes to mind

The Sun’s heat freezes me

But in the cold I can melt.

Empty eyes, dry hair,

Gaunt face, and hollow stomach,

This is the way I’m supposed to be.

I’ll reach my goal one day

One day I’ll bee 100 pounds,

then 80

then 60.

The goal is never met,

It keeps getting further and further away

The numbers get smaller

But my waist is still to big.

If I reach 0 pounds

Will it be enough?

If I drop dead

Will it finally be enough?

I have fur on my arms

But I’m not a bitch.

I have fog in my brain

but I’m not a ditz.

I starve myself

Of things that I need

So you will like me

Please like me.

The only thing I can be is pretty

So am I pretty yet?

I’ll change my hair if you want

Give me a knife

And I’ll scrape the fat off my bones.

Green brushes against blue

The fluttering of our wings

matches the pace of our hearts.

Sitting on the highest branch

Of the tallest tree

I could see for miles all around,

but all I see is you.

I slip my hand into yours

And pretend not to see the blush

On your handsome face.

A bird perches

And eyes us curiously.

You whistle at it and laugh

When the startled bird flies of into the moors.

Crumbling bones of salt cannot hold the demons at bay any longer

Their liquid limbs lap at my skull and my ribs

My head crumbles open and they burrow into my brain,

Piping their bodies into my consciousness.

My body is being rebuilt,

bone by titanium bone,

Scar tissue wrapping my flesh,

Until I am impenetrable.

My body is a nest for the darker things in life,

But do not be mistaken,

For the light still shines through my eyes.