As the soft snow falls...

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
She lays awake gazing at the ceiling of her prison.

Thinking of nothing and feeling nothing.

She gazed at the moon light as she hoped for a quick end.

Submitted: December 11, 2011

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Submitted: December 11, 2011

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She lays awake gazing at the ceiling of her prison.

Thinking of nothing and feeling nothing.

She gazed at the moon light as she hoped for a quick end.

All the while dreading her retribution.

Her only satisfaction was thinking to herself “They did not know that I did it for myself; that pride, whose slave I was, spoke
to me louder than all their voices” (James Hurst).

What did they think?

It’s no mystery

It’s not bravery

It’s not pride

Its fear that caries her.

She was innocent, clueless about the world, but living in her own world.

She never opened her eyes.

She walked around with her eyes closed.

Not hearing not seeing just feeling.

Her first time was on a dark gray morning.

As she sat at her desk scribbling.

All notion she was just a little girl love sick.

She scribbles all through class.

She never ounce look up to see who was looking.

She didn’t care she scribbled his name all over her notebook.

Plain with no flowers, no hearts or stars.

Just him

Just as he was.

Plain and simple

No starts no hearts.

Tired of trying to go over a wall that won’t budge.

Tired of the ups and downs.

Tired of trying to make it.

Tired of how hard it seems when she knew it could have been easier.

Tired of the little lies that he thought didn’t make much of a difference.

Tired of trying to make it through for him.

Tired of what she felt for him.

Hatred poured out of her just as water out of a pipe.

Her only satisfaction was thinking to herself “They did not know that I did it for myself; that pride, whose slave I was, spoke to
me louder than all their voices” (James Hurst).


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