Can’t seem to move
What is wrong
With me
Don’t seem to care
In the kitchen
Dirty dishes
In the basket
Unwashed clothing
I should be working
Or at least
Moving
I don’t care
They say
They will help
But in the end
I push
Them away
What is wrong
Why am I me
Just leave me here
Walk away
Nothing can be done
Leave the dishes
In the sink
Leave the clothes
In the basket
I just don’t care
What happens now
They say they can help
But will
They leave me too
I want to change
Help me out
I’ll push you away
But I want
You here
Please
Stay
About the Creator
Jay Wilson
*insert clever and funny bio here*
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Clinging to Childhood
The playground is empty, as it should be past sundown. There is a warm breeze, and I can see everything despite the late hour. What time is it, anyway? It could very well be past midnight. I can never keep track of time, especially in the summer. A prickly piece of popcorn hides like a stowaway in the left cup of my padded training bra. I stuffed the tissue in last minute— a decision I’m beginning to regret, based on the events that are unfolding rapidly before me. To my left, laying non-chalantly on his back, is my date for the evening. He is two years older, could probably grow facial hair if he wanted to, and drives a secondhand Honda. He may as well be a Man. I, on the other hand, feel like a fraud with my too-short short-shorts, sparkly lip gloss, and makeshift push-up bra. I keep my arms pinned to my sides as I feel the dreaded circles of sweat beginning to manifest on my brand new Abercrombie top. I cup my elbows with my hands and stare down at my hint of cleavage, praying that the tissue doesn’t pop out like a white flag surrendouring my lack of womanhood.
By Marti Maley7 days ago in Fiction
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