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by Linda M. Crate most girls want roses give me briars and thorns i want locked in the isolation of a tree's thighs; want to cut myself on every icicle of winter just to know that i can still feel because sometimes i am just so emotionless to everything circling around my head with it's vultures, and i think sometimes i just look away so my bleeding heart won't bleed- just want to cut my heart out feed it to the birds because it's never done me any good just grief, that is all; and i want to know how far inward i can fall before i fall outward again how introspective my seas will get before someone braves the magic spell put on me, cuts straight through the heart of my misery and finds the happiness i thought i lost as a child when i tripped over the syllables because i was the girl that always laughed sometimes so hard i cried- i want to experience that joy again, sometimes, but sometimes i just don't know how so i withdraw to solitude closing my eyes becoming one with the river and trees. Copyright 2014. All rights reserved.
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