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Creative Writing, Diary, Stories, Writing

A Piece of Gold


Braidwaves in my hair

Image by baking_in_pearls via Flickr

I´m 15 years old and it´s the world against me, and me against the world. Very well knowing how much you hate me, I hate you back for every word that comes out of your mouth; I love you. I refuse to believe. Instead I crew cut my long chestnut-colored hair, giving you the finger for what you just spoke. Then I disappear into my room.

Hiding from life between my walls of misery I look myself in the mirror. It´s a wimpy girl with an ugly face staring back at me. She´s probably insane somehow, and she smells, she dresses in an awkward way, and why is that nose still there? I´m running again, running away from you, from me, but there´s nowhere to run from life. Standing in the middle of life´s playground I cannot do anything else but suffer.

The invisible rules of our society´s game are laid upon me with a violent pressure over my shoulders. No one ever asked me if I want to play. I refuse. There´s nothing to hold on to, nothing to believe in, nothing holy or worthy my trust or love. I´m a nonbeliever. Nothing else.

You´re everything I ever wanted. The whispering voice of yours tickling my year, feminine lips, sky-blue eyes promising me that you are the wingless star of mine that fell into my hand from an empty sky. You´re a gift from the non-existing God of mine, meant to fill my heart with unconditional love, so that I can allow myself to be. You´re my creator.

The scissor´s sharp edge cut through your golden tress. With your curl in my hand I´m finally blessed, saved from a life of exclusion. Your division is divine, leaving me full of trust in a future when I finally can be. Together with you.

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About BMA-student

BMA-student

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