A Tornado Day

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: True Confessions  |  House: Booksie Classic
A poem about myself.

Submitted: April 25, 2012

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Submitted: April 25, 2012

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I was born on a black day, a tornado day,

with skin the color of the wind when it stops blowing,

and hair the color of life when we stop growing.

But I’m still young, and I have more fans than friends,

and more enemies than I can count on all my fingers and toes.

I grow mushrooms inside my bed and there’s a cemetery inside my head,

where I plant the things that won’t grow onto paper

so that they can grow and haunt me.

I have eyes the color of rain before it falls,

and the secrets to living written on my hand in bloody ink.

Face value shouldn’t be a factor anymore.

Raw emotion.

I’m just trying to write something that makes me worth remembering,

and I’m just trying to be a girl born on a day worth remembering.

But some days I feel like the world is a puzzle without a place for me,

maybe there’s no place for anybody,

and we have no direction.

We're just floating aimlessly

Sometimes I am certain,

but then the wind bows and my hair blows and I have insides the color of stars before they fall.

Sometimes I feel like all my friends are strangers.

This feeling can be dangerous, and I get sick with it

Kill me.

But I was born on a tornado day, and I am a tornado of poetry and sin.

I wear my biggest secret in black ink on my skin

and I am too curious to ever die.

I am a girl who sounds like the wind.

I think I’m dancing on death again,

but the music is louder than my tornado

and the love hurts more than the hate can.


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