x-JiMmY-x

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
***poem

Submitted: April 13, 2014

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Submitted: April 13, 2014

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scarecrow_drake1024.png

Jimmy was seven.

He rode his bike to the mountain.

He sang sad songs and thought the pigeons were laughing.

They mooed.

In a psycho's mind that sounds true-It’s normal for pigeons to moo.

Maybe the birds were talking amongst their selves.

Maybe they said: "Jimmy, the crazy, who can't live with himself."

 

Jimmy was eleven.

He wore black clothes and pierced his nose.

Now he sat in the field laughing with the crows.

A scarecrow.

A scarecrow.

His face always stayed the same.

He never meant to scare them all away...

Sad Jimmy, he thought he was almost sane…

 

 

Jimmy, now fifteen, still young and naive.

No darker or so it seemed.

Black soul, eating away all his dreams.

Yet, heart like acid trying to eat through the grime to get clean.

 

Jimmy, nineteen, an adult so it seems.

No black clothes, but heart had grief.

The bullies mean- Mean to Jimmy.

In Jimmy's mind he thought he was the one sinning.

Now alone, he still wasn't winning.

 

Jimmy twenty three, mind almost forgotten everything.

Yet diaries kept with the black jeans in a box labeled:

"Sad, Sorrowful Memories."

He takes a look through the box, cries then shuts the lid and  he's off.

He leaves- Leaves the past where it should stay.

Kept in a box locked away.

A memory, a dream of some sort.

A scar, a bruise, only sometimes sore.

 

Jimmy made fun of for being different.

His mind just unique and dreams so lucid.

Vivid.

 

It's funny-

Funny in a way, the world wants us to all be the same.

What a boring world we would live in-

but isn't that what’s coming?

Our dreadful decisions.

Their so cunning- so cutting.

Sad souls fed up, fed up from running.

The world needs to change ways for people like Jimmy.

So we don’t end up sob stories in history.

 

 


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