She lives with a helpless problem

Monday, May 31, 2010 § 4

She sits and listens to her math teacher's voice droning on forever
Words bleeding together
On her mind is the boy with the tan skin; the soft hands
She falls into the blue
Depression, almost black
Knowing he will never come for her; never want her
Time to take the stored Prozac
She fights her way up to the white
Her thoughts shifting
The shiny red tricycle when she was five
Her fist kiss
Last week's sleepover
Will she ever control the never stable emotions?

Signing off,

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§ 4 Response to “She lives with a helpless problem”

  • Barry says:

    This is a very profound piece Sophia. I wonder, is it based on a personal experience of someone you know? Sorry, that's an unfair question to ask, very personal.

    I got your comment on my 'Mindscape' poem, and I have to say in all honesty that you underestimate your ability when it comes to your writing. There's a purity to your do I describe innocence and vulnerability, yet at the same time wonderful insightfulness.

    I started writing when I was around your age. I don't consider myself a gifted poet but I will say that my writing has come a long way since then. Keep in mind Sohia, I'm three times your age (kill me now, I don't feel anywhere near that!)

    I love reading what you write, I always have. And you know what? Even if you feel it's not as good technically as you'd like it to be, it's beautiful because I know every word you write comes from deep within, from your heart.

    THAT is where good poetry comes from. It makes the reader feel something, whether it's joy, anger, fear, heartache. Your writing has often touched me, so if I were you I wouldn't worry. Because I really enjoy it.

    Coincidentally, after reading what you've written here I should tell you I posted a piece on depression earlier this morning on my blog.

  • Barry says:

    Just signed up to follow you Sophia. I'm not sure why I didn't do it when I first found your blog?

    Duh. :)

  • I actually kind of love your posts. So simplistic and innocent. As you grow older and mature, I see a blunt-and-to-the-point poet in the makings. Think Bukowski, only I don't recommend you become a drunk jackass like he was =p

  • This is amazing and so heartfelt. You have a real talent, Sophia.