What your mind depicted, seeing a pretty girl getting picked up in a pick up.
Rushing out with such eagerness, she literally scrambled, dropped her books and took off.My views from the bottom left window beside the parking lot, not much spoken word more verbs, she stepped out the corridors, tissue caressing her eyelids.Pain hid amongst her sentences, through every spoken word, she had a hush tone of saying things.Wasn't a surprise noticing she hadn't said a thing, no protests with regrets, she couldn't fight with the one who; protects, feeds and pays the bills.So she steps in.---and She steps out, clear in my view, her agony wrapped around her like his scaly serpent skin, indecently and uncomfortably marking out details on her wrists.But she covers it up, it never happenedThe tear stains on her shirt never happenedAs she walks up stairs, en route to class, she holds her bag so close to her it seems as though she's a little girl hugging her teddy at night, she's in distress.With no strive to impress, as other guys would take a second guess, on approaching a girl with a torn up dress, torn up on the outside and inside, she isn't no more the girl I know from next door.She's a girl I knew,Last seen on the 7th floor bathroomsa girl with a hunger for freedomA crime scene with razor blades and needles.She merely is, a tortured soul.
Number3
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Tortured soul
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life
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catmartan says: BRAVO! I SEE THE PICTURE..HEART- WARMING! |
OTHER POEMS WRITTEN BY Number3
Insomnia's haikuThe still of the night.  |
Together and thenIn hopes of more.. In search of more.. We can't turn back! We can't go back. With the times past. With the times we grow. We can't turn it back so we turn it black! The African sun shimmers in the distance.. Our efforts linger on in the absence. With the sweat trickling down our backs.. So we embrace..with the Almighty's grace. To look evil right in the eye with all it's abhorrence. So that it too may look at our reverence. The dignity of the ebony shall remain throughout the coming eternity. Them who speak else utter blasphemy. U.n.i.t.y till we die.. Like the phoenix, from the ashes we rise.. Black love. |
the Walls and the DiaryW: Never could I have imagined, beyond my wildest dreams, a beauty as such. To my eyes and my heart. Too much it seems. As I’m left clueless in my means to express. My love for my love…love baffles me. D: “I don’t deserve you…” he says ~as she ponders on, her pen failing to jot down what she means to say~ W: Rightfully so… For you are a woman deserving of a throne and a crown. It should be! I, a mere man can but only wish to give you this… As my dreams foresee our future Equally my dreams ‘dream’… D: &... |
We better with hopeOn our knees. ...in belief. We better end this tale with our hands clasped together. With our heads bowed. Let us not be at the end of our tether. In the stormy weather...let us dance. With our tears camoflauged, lets forgive and forget...with hope. and Emerge...as we came into this world...once again. in loves thougt, let us spill our emotins on its canvass and create beauty. A new chapter in the continouence of our adventures. Sing, chant and even whisper, to the most high. Let our aspirations be known. Striving for greatness in each other... where the story begins... |
She would close her eyes and cryAlone crouched in a corner she weeps. she shivers in her own sweat. she's drenched by the fear breathing aside her daily. trails of tears run down her cheeks onto her sheets. darkened spots begin to show. her inner beauty, shattered and stepped upon, refuse to glow. in disguise she's "sweet ol Mrs smiley face". To us. swaying from side to side, her cat walk keeps cats talking. keeping heads turning and minds deliberating. she seems all too perfect... her beauties skin deep...too deep, her scars are just as real. its spring time and she never reveals her knees, she's ashamed by her daily routine of kneeling. her melanin exposed only to where it wouldn't look suspicious. she's wearing a buttoned up collar in the blazing heat. wrinkles around her neck drawing att... |
Boulevard dramaOne, we were, in a time before. With a desire for more. In a lonely boulevard, stretched our paths be. Like a puzzle, delicately laid, serendipity had materialised though yet, it was to be. . . In the audience of our counterparts, in a birthday suit of our truths, we were identified to be, one of a kind. If we were one to begin with. The myth of developing an emotional bond with a myth was a fact. In our fictional illusion of what reality is, taking a step back would be moving forward in our tar laid escapade. The past would be the future and vice versa, easier it could have been without knowledge of your existence. . . Of your charm, your beauty, nutty personality and. Carrying on... This road would never end. I would not rest. If not for your departure. The way would be misty with insecurity, ill-thoughts of a tragedy. If you were here with me. Gloomy things seem from the bright star gaze of your eyes, it seems unreal. I want to believe it isn't. . . Yet here ... |
We are destinedIntrusting the universe to act as a catalyst. To bring us together and take us into an euphoria like state of bliss. With hope that it isn't all a big accident... unified random events provoking imminent unhappiness. Leaving us with regrets... reasons why we neglect "extraordinary" for simply perfect... with no view of what it could've been. So I trust the universe, to unwind this entanglement. To set forth its brilliance in coherence... You and I just might happen. In uncustomary events we could set alight our phoenix like feelings and rise. In a smoke screen, learning to listen, with our "seasoned" hearts, we'd barter in our sights for assurance that we two in the end will witness. What is and what can. So with the universe in constant motion. I, trusting in the notion that yes we are to be. Two souls as one, hand in hand, strolling in the sunset. Where we'd seemimgly forget. With our pupils locked, our hearts in a frenzy. In a daze, where days went by... |
Writers Block - Slow DanceIn the dazzle, its you and I. Lately we haven't being seeing eye to eye. So let me lighten up the mood with the soothing sounds of my heart beat. To the beat, let's dance. Offering my open hand in hopes of a dance. My fingers elongated...attempting to reach. To build a bridge between my partner and I. So that, we too, can be one. The tingling sensation arousing my emotions. Causing my cerebral to spark abstract images. Of which I need help in interpreting, I'm striving for meaning. As there is no "I" in Number3. No "I" in team but there is a "I" in Ink. So help I, to see. Come closer in between my fingers. Let me embrace your frame and explore it. Dance with me. Let the a4 be our dance floor. Let's make a simple routine of twists and twirls, letters in words, bring meaning. Dance with me. |
Fallen BrotherA soldier, leader and a brother. Fighting a battle under the gloomy weather. It is unfortunate, the heavens were calling, requesting their angel. Through loyalty he abides, leaving memories and lessons. We are grateful. In our hearts you'll remain forever... |
Trivial satisfactionSatisfaction. . . An infatuation! We are and never will be truly content. Selfish creatures we are. With how things are right now. Your objectives, higher than the stars, Massively out of reach, we are succumbed to enjoy the fruits at our level. Near the devil, figuratively. Our lives are written down at every moment, every second till the last breath. Whether your destination demands distances unreachable by feet...as you end up finding a way, life too finds a way, life has a way of catching up to you. Life always balances out its equation. Blood, sweat and tears will, optimistically, never bare thorns as fruits. But as there is a left to a right, a up to a down and a positive where there's a negative. Life's directional instructions will always make sense to the blind man. |