Divergent
It's new
it's here
it's all up to you
It's new
It's here
It's all for you
It's new
It's here
It's you.
You are just a knockoff
I am an original.
I have created something new
But you are just a copy.
I just be
while you just try.
You want to be
But I am.
The smell of a roast fills the air.
What could it be?
Chicken?
Pig?
Cow?
I have no clue. And I can't see it, either. I have yet to eat anything but stale bread and crackers since Mother put me down here.
She picks up the tiny white mug with brown-and-white swirled espresso, his hands trembling. The tiny cafe at the corner - the corner right before the sketchy ally-way - is next to empty, the only sounds being mumbled "thank you"'s, coffee cups clinking, and footsteps not he creaking wooden floor.
Two hours ago she woke up in the park, unable to move, with nothing but a towel and a metal box of money. She doesn't know anything except for her name and the town she's in. She doesn't know where her family is.
And she can't remember anything before this night.
I try to grasp the harness,
but it's too slick.
I try to grasp the harness,
but away it whips.
I look around,
at the field,
everyone holding
the harness they wield.
The bracelet is tight around the girl's wrist as she powers up her courage. She turns the doorknob and allows herself into the shaded bedroom, a terrified heart pounding behind her chest. Her throat warms as she rounds the corner, acknowledging the whimpers emerging from the closet.
The girl puts her small hand on the door, breathing breaths of ice as she eases it open. She stares down at her sister, who is huddled in the corner, shielded partially by the baggy, dark clothes handing up.
The first girl, the young one with the black curls, slips the bracelet off of her cold skin. She kneels down, neither child speaking, and fastens it around her sister's wrist. The moment the crisp click sounds, the black-haired girl's skin dulls and her hair grays, drifting out of her head and onto the hardwood floor.
The young child's lips thin and her hands wrinkle. She crawls to replace her sister's spot in the cold corner. Her sister has straight, ruby red hair now, and her cheeks are rosy with youth and health. Her long curled lashes blink at the generous girl and her skin glows as she leaves the closet. She closes the door, the coldness sparking her skin, and whispers,
"Thank you,"
as she shuts the door. The whimpers resume, but now from the other.
The falcon swooped down,
his talons extended,
and his beak parted,
as he called out a shriek.
He let out
a fearful trill
to alert the town
of their wrongs.
He's against
what the bug does
he doesn't agree
with what the rabbit believes.
Because he believes
that he is the king,
because he believes
that he is the best.
He shoots down others
and glares from afar
upset at their happiness
that theirs lives consist.
there was a big bird, a falcon, that swooped down and picked up the dead mouse. The falcon's name was Freddy. He was old and mean. So old that his talons were all cracked. So mean that no other bird loved him. This made Freddy even meaner.
I'm through,
with the words,
the words that,
act as swords.
I'm through,
with the glares,
spinning through
the air.
I'm through,
with the judgements,
telling me,
not to take a chance.
I will be me,
I shall not change,
because in this book of life I choose
to write my own page
I camp out,
In the yard,
I camp out,
on the beach.
This is all,
not for fun,
yet for a bigger reason:
to escape the pain.
This is all,
to escape the pain,
of bad news,
and secret texts.
This is all,
to escape the pain,
of separations
and sicknesses.
Does it work?
Let's find out.
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writing since 2015 · 15 entries · 12 days shown up
each square is a day—lit means Erin showed up.
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the words Erin reaches for
cornerdarksisterskinlightwhitelipshappinessmothercampescapepainbelievesgirldoorharness