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Her Story


About Me
My Writing or Artwork
Her Story
Twitch's Corner

A Storetry (Story/Poetry) that I wrote when I was facing a difficult time in my life. I don't know if many people realized this is how I felt...I am not sure if you all will think "Oh, this is Jill we are talking about. She is such a drama queen, why even bother??" I just want you all to know, this is how I felt dammit...You can't critique someone's emotions...Please keep an open mind when reading this...

She stares into the mirror,
almost ashamed of what she sees.
Hair dangling in her eyes and face.
Dark rings and black eye-liner,
find their way beneath her brown eyes.
Eyes that once told the story,
of a happy young girl.
Now they are bleak, like a stormy sea.
She casts her eyes down to the sink,
soft white porclain a sharp contrast to her skin.
Her black clothing and black make-up,
have never hid what is lying within her.
She is an angry, lost, terrified, young woman.
Brewing openly with pain and hatred.
Hatred that arose from being abandoned when she needed him the most.
Pain for everytime he hasn't cared.
For everytime they haven't listened to her, and told her she was lying.
But now she refuses to listen to them, and wishes they were all dead.
The voices in her head, create their own hollaring every day.
She hides behind depressing music,
and friends that constantly mistreat her.
She truly doesn't care anymore.
She has all she needs,
pencil, paper, mind, and emotions.
She has thought of suicide, but can never commit.
She has thought of running away from this awful place, but has no where to go.
She has tried to battle the shadows,
but they've pinned her falling in behind, and in front.
She has no where to turn.
She forces herself awake from her daydream.
Casts her eyes towards her depressive reflection.
And now the empty drip from behind her eyes.
They combine with her black make-up,
and create fake black tears.
Real with significance to her.
To her, these are stained on her pillow,
from constant nights of endless sobbing.
The color stained on her finger tips,
just so she could prove her rebellion.
Like the demons she constantly faces,
as they lurk in the shadows of her past.
Like the storm clouds waiting for her,
at every thought of turning it all around.
Like the cold, empty, lonesome, stone
that her heart has become...

Bet you all never would believe in a million years that those were my thoughts, and that this is what I faced everyday when I looked in a mirror....Everytime I put on that goth make-up....Everytime I wore those funeral clothes....I was never that person before my ninth grade year...I'm sure those of you who were with me in eighth grade remember the girl I used to be, and I am sorry for those who never got to know her...She was something special...People liked me in eighth grade, because I didn't let anything hurt me...I was trapped in a made-up world no one who wanted to hurt me could enter...People who attempted to understand me, they saw that world, and realized how happy I was to be there...Those who didn't care, well, they saw me as a psycho probably...But those people didn't matter...