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Home > Poetry > Portrait of an American Teenager
Portrait of an American Teenager
Copyright Leah
Laughing
carelessy
bright as the sun
her heart is
loving everyone
giving selflessly.
Model daughter, model student.
Forced away
from everything familiar
roughly shoved into
difference
loneliness...
so scared.
Who will be her friend now?
Why doesn't she talk?
Why is she crying, we buy her everything.
Ungrateful.
Get out of bed
self-pity isn't allowed
smile, for chrissakes.
But clean your room first.
You give me so much trouble
I give you everything except
I'm busy
I don't have time right now
my legs are open too wide
go to someone else.
"People don't like me"
"I hate my face"
Shut-up.
What the hell is the matter with you?
Abuse me more
like the song says
'cause I like it
can I get you this?
Would you like this?
Would you
could you like me?
I'm not bad.
It's ok
I know it was an accident
it won't happen again
just like the last time.
Speaking
of accidents
so was I.
I'll come.
Just for you.
I ignore what she says
she hates me
but your friends like me right?
That wasn't snickering
I heard
behind my back.
It wasn't ridicule
you want me here,
I know you do.
Supressed
hidden
shamefully
frightened
of anything real.
Wall
brick
surrounding her
heart,
pain is too
surreal.
Former loved ones
doubting
can she even feel?
"Heartless selfish bitch!"
is all that still reaches her ears.
Embracing
everything ugly
black
darkness
in an attempt to
push away
dimpled thighs,
bulbous features,
tear-filled eyes,
mutilated skin,
a heart that's split
even more than her hair.
The essence
of everything that the media says
a teenager
shouldn't be,
but always is.
Black, black, black
darkness too suffocating
to see her own light.
Trusting once,
twice,
three times is the charm
that lifted the arm, with the hand
that reached for the knife
clutched it so tight
tight,
tightly
turning everything
upside down.
Pain was pleasure,
blood was soothing,
welted
flesh
temporary bandage,
to wear like a badge.
Blackened lungs,
filled with
smoke.
When was the last time
she had a meal?
Stony eyes,
carefully blank,
revealing nothing except
maybe here and there
a flicker
of a hate
that doesn't even resemble
human emotion.
Branded.
A stranger.
What can make a devil,
feel human again?
What can make
a bitterness
too strong to even be in the same room with,
taste sweet like honey
again?
The same thing that will
unexpectedly
but so predictably
turn it all around again
and make it
hurt
even worse than before.
I'm just a little girl...
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