369dreamergirl

i. ronnie picks rose petals and eats them, chews the pink to yellow in his cigarette teeth. his sister, peggy, asks how they taste, and he says, "good, like whimsy and perfume," and picks three petals fat with pigment and water; she tastes the first and likes the second and the third is the sweet on her tongue when ronnie dies of liver failure. she eats the reddest blooms on his casket. ii. if tommy were a girl and jenny a boy, the children would be perfect: tommy with impish nose and nymph hands, jenny rumbling with the rooneys from new city, and mother frets for both their blond[e] heads. peggy buys the twins paletas but ronnie spe

She spends most days dreaming of being lightning quick, talented,         and oh, oh-so beautiful and her days are truly just beginning As she sits in Science class, writing out frolicsome metaphors brimming with emotion her confidence is pining from deep hurts and a broken heart yet she finds inspiration most in unhappiness So she scribbles down painful thoughts amongst her oblivious classmates, hoping the words will come to mean         something. Her skin radiates sunlight, as Phillipine blood runs in her veins, and she rests her head in Thailan

Ron and Ginny visited me the next day; I was feeling much better, though my body felt frail, almost as if I were to stand up, I would break into a million pieces. Or maybe that was just my heart. “Now you can tell us what happened,” Ron said, leaning forward eagerly. “We’ll tell McGonagall what you said, so she knows about it too.” I recounted what happened, minus everything that had gone on between Draco and myself. I merely told them that Draco had dragged me into a hidden passageway, where Lord Voldemort had questioned me and hit me with a spell. “What spell was it?” Ginny asked. “What’s Mal

you are now life, you are air, more nitrogen than healing oxygen; more poison than you are the cure. [but everyone needs you now you are not here] there is a girl i used to know, she had no name, erased it from all the recordbooks, she bled poetry and breathed rhythms. [she smoked ashen stanzas but she did not feel it] she was made of blown glass, valuable and had "HANDLE WITH CARE" stamped all over her eyes; she was fragile. [but acted like a bull in a china shop for coverup] the girl i used to know whispered songs at midnight trying to sing herself to sleep, she was a drug whose only personal addiction was fantasy. [i

Relationships now are volcanic. No respect, no real trust. Infidelity- scared to check someone's cellphone to actually prove you're right. The way your name is forgotten in his lips as he put his arms around another girl. Kids playing at adults, running around in cars and clothes their parents bought them, trying to prove something. Trying to put on someone else, because they don't think they fit anymore. There's cold comfort in two children, fumbling underneath a sheet. No true passion, no real discovery. You go mad, madly in love, madly in anger, and finally, bored out of your mind. You smoke pot and get drunk together, in hopes you don't

you broke my heart, it doesn't work so well anymore.