.
in a hall and on walls that run along the stairs
where still frames of smiles and laughter should be
is chipping paint
[the walls scream in desperation]
and empty frames
and empty promises.
.
at a father daughter dance
when the only slow song starts
and all the girls take their daddy's hands
there is a small figure
[weeping]
on the bathroom floor
because her escort left
to have a smoke.
.
on a tuesday night
a girl sits in her closet
humming and singing to her favorite songs
blocking out the noise
[will it ever stop]
of two kids turned to bitter adults
who she doubts were ever really in love.
.
[make it stop]
.
YOU ARE READING
Blank Slate
PoetryI write to give myself strength. I write to be the characters that I am not. I write to explore all the things I'm afraid of. -Joss Whedon Chicklit #764
