She’s the girl who stands alone in the crows of masses, and it’s those masses that call her a freak and crazy. But what they don’t know is that she hates to go home, because they don’t know at home she has a mom that calls her a waste of space, that says the she hates to see her face. And her dad is just a drunk man who can’t seem to control his back hand and leaves permanent bruises on her face and then spits on her and calls her a disgrace. Yet still she tucks them in and cleans up their mess for the hope of meeting her parents standards that haven’t ever been set. But upon returning to school she is at the top of her class. The only thing she seems to fail at is finding friends that will actually like her and not say they are friends and then turn around and call her crazy. Now their definition of crazy is just a picture of her bruised face, now all she can think and say is “I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy. My reality is just different than yours because you are just looking through closed eyes and shut doors.” She found her self longing for a new reality, one that she reads that helps her to fall asleep, it’s because when she sleeps she dreams. She dreams of her perfect family, one where her dad doesn’t drink and her mom doesn’t spite her. But in the morning she awakens with tears in her eyes saying,”It’s crazy. It’s crazy, I know.” So she will make a book of her own, and write down all of her dreams and all the things that she wishes could be. With a red pen she will title it her “Book of Dreams” but nothing is more crazy than dreaming when you only wake up to reality. — jasOne more by my youngest.
The Poetic Rabbit
Copyright and Attribution Info
This work by Tawnya Smith is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License.
What I’ve Never Forgotten:“If I read a book and it makes my whole body so cold no fire can warm me, I know that is poetry. If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry. These are the only ways I know it. Is there any other way?” ― Emily Dickinson, Selected Letters
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