- boys/crushes/shitty things like that · 1) EVERYTHING · 3) THOUGHTS

Why?

As I watch your hand move closer
I cringe away, holding my balloon so tight it could almost pop.
Almost.  I would never really let that happen.
But apparently you have no such reservations.
It shines between your fingertips, sharp and deadly
As it inches closer.

I try to back away, but there’s nowhere to go.
I try to beg you no, but my throat is dry.
I try to catch your eye, but your gaze is focused on the instrument of horror in your grasp.
It moves closer…
I hug my balloon
closer….
a hoarse cry escapes my lips
closer….
It’s almost touching the purple rubber
….closer….
.I squeeze my eyes shut and let out a whimper, praying silently….

*POP*

I scream
scrabbling for the limp pieces
as they fall with a splat to the floor
I huddle
Tightly against the wall
cradling my shattered hopes as I gaze up at you.

Your eyes have finally found mine, but they are empty.
Do you know what you’ve done?
Unable to speak, I hold your gaze and tilt my head, my eyes filled with the silent question I wish I could ask.
Would you even hear if I did?
Would you even care if you heard?
Would you even apologise if you cared?
I’m not sure.
I stare at the latex shreds in my hands, trying to comprehend.

Weeping,
Whispering,
Wondering….
Wondering….

why?

© Victoria Morrison 2015

I wrote this in September…I’m fairly sure I know who it was about…it’s kinda strange, but I liked it a lot. I was just really scared of him hurting me/felt like he already had. Now I don’t know what to do about him but that is a whole other post. It’s definitely not like this anymore. Enjoy

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One thought on “Why?

  1. An excellent use of metaphor. The beauty of your poem is that it could mean almost anything to pretty much anyone; perhaps that is what you liked about it so much. That balloon, so precarious in its existence, is something we all protect, and I think that is the best element of your poem. I can also appreciate how the questions become longer when you ask them, and that the statements, in the section couched with “…closer…”, gives it all an air of ticking, like the sound of a clock that can’t be stopped, or time that inexorably comes and goes. Quite nice indeed.

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