Blonde Hair, Black Heart

 

You see that girl across the classroom

Full of life and laughter

Constantly smacking her gum and twirling her peppy blonde strands

Trying to get the star quarterback to notice her

 

They say the eyes are the windows to the soul

And that girl has a soul of darkness

And danger

She is headed down a frightening road

With cuts on her wrists like the curves of her waist

As she flips her hair her sweater sleeve slips

Just enough to catch a glimpse into her abusive world

Those slices on her wrists each tell a story

 

Like when she was eight years old all dressed in pink

Her stepdad would creep in once the sun went down

And he wouldn’t care when she cried herself to sleep

 

Like when she eleven years old all dressed in purple

Her outfit matched her bruises

That her mother gave to her when she stumbled in drunk

 

Like when she was thirteen years old all dressed in blue

Taking care of her younger sister

Never once cracking a smile because her heart was too heavy

 

Like when she was fifteen years old sitting in a classroom

Still dressed in all pink with lip-gloss to match

Constantly smacking her gum and twirling her peppy blonde strands

But now you see the black coursing through her body

You see vibrant red dripping from her veins

And you see death etched in her mind while getting the attention

Of the star quarterback

Nobody notices except me

But whom can I tell?

That is shit I can’t say to my teacher.

 

 

 

 

 

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