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Okay, I wrote this for the fun of it one night and I just found it. It's a poem, and I'm not as good in my opinion with poetry as with regular writing. Anyway, this is just a long poem about a week in the lives of our favorite teenagers.
Next To You
I'm in the bleachers Friday
watching your big game.
You look distracted
the ball flies at you
but your don't move
and miss it.
Your dad is fuming and
your team's depressed as their star
parks himself on the bench.
He looks lost, and I know this can't
be the real you. Is there a way I could
sit next to you and make you better?
I sit next to you on Saturday
under my big oak tree, on my balcony.
But, I can tell, you're distressed as
you rub your arm.
I move my hand to touch it, but
you pull away. Away from me.
You say you're all right, nothing is wrong,
but the Bolton blue eyes never lie.
I'm okay, nothing is wrong you say.
Wrong.
The word echoes
then hollows.
It's Sunday and you run by my house.
Your morning jog.
Coach has got you up early today.
I wonder if he's just your coach, does
he even know that he's your father too?
You don't stop today, but I don't mind,
Coach has been intense lately, so I
focus my eyes on my Calculus book.
Monday. Cold. Dreary.
You're chair is empty. Chad's eyes
search the room for you, afraid that you're
not there. You're always here, early.
The door opens late, we turn.
You walk as if nothing is wrong
late note ready, bruise on your eye.
A fight with the other school, your excuse.
Even though your a star in the musical,
you're a horrible actor, but I still sit beside you.
I sit across from you on Tuesday.
History, boring for you, but you usually
fling notes at Zeke.
Now you're tired, barely awake.
Your dad walks in, and like a bullet,
your head shoots up.
He calls you over, and obediently
like a dog, you go.
What do you do when he takes you?
Does he hurt you?
The sun shines brightly on Wednesday
but, I'm shivering all over because
your happy personality is moody and
you're ignoring your friends. Me.
Did he tell you something?
Am I bad?
You say no, I don't believe your lie.
You tell me to get lost. It hurts, but I know
this isn't you.
Your arms are bruised,
Your eyes are scared.
But, in my heart, I know you don't lie.
You're fine.
You hold me in your arms on Thursday.
The bright blue eyes every girl loves
have dulled.
I ask again, is he hurting you?
You shake your head.
No. The answer is firm.
I see the bruises on your leg.
Hand marks?
Are you branded?
You get up and leave, I'm scared now.
The school is somber Friday,
although you wouldn't know.
I stand by your best friend.
Chad holds my hand, Zeke made cookies.
Your favorite, chocolate chip.
I knew, I knew he hurt you.
I let you walk into it.
Now...
you're gone.
It's Saturday once more.
But, this time we're all crying.
Your lifeless body.
Bloody.
Bruised.
Mangled.
You lie in a box, covered with flowers.
Your mother's crying, her tears won't stop.
Mine won't either, even Ryan can't
control the salty water down his cheeks.
Your hand is cold in mine.
So cold.
I turn my head, a cold hard stare.
He did this to you.
And now, he is getting sympathetic glances.
How could he?
The man you called father. He cries,
guilty tears
as you are put in the earth.
And I wish, oh yes I do,
that he was next to you.
I just needed to get this out there.
Review!