For those of you who actually bother to read this, you may be wondering where on earth I've been! To be honest, I sort of gave up on the whole concept of blogging, as all my thoughts have pretty much been the same despite all that happened over the last month or so. All I will say, is - I found an old poem! Haha, it's awful, I wrote it a fair while back for an English thing in the style of Simon Armitage that I based on a story I'd read in the paper... Anyways, enjoy!
What’s in a face?
What can I say?
What’s in a face?
Nose pressed to the glass of her laptop screen,
the one she’s had since she was barely 13,
She remembers the day, remembers the scene
like it was only yesterday he stole
Her heart.
They’d talk every night until early morning.
Sleep didn’t seem to matter anymore, yawning
she stumbled round the kitchen, grabbing at toast
and applying her liner, ready to boast
of the guy she’d just met – how gorgeous he was!
But she wouldn’t tell everything, simply because
she only knew him through a friend
of a friend of a friend. They wouldn’t understand.
But that didn’t matter. She knew him.
He was different.
She was different.
That day he’d asked for her number, so they
could text. She didn’t even stop to contemplate,
clumsily punching the digits. Ready to burst
she thought almost at once of her very first
kiss- How they’d meet, how she’d smile,
how they’d talk, how he’d joke, and how after a while,
The lights would dim, the violins would play,
the fireworks would “bang!” and then quietly he’d say
“I love you.” And he would, she knew him.
He was special.
She felt special.
They arranged to meet, the date was set
as she put on her lip gloss, and when they met-
she suddenly realised who he was. Not a friend
or a lover, or even a boy. And this was the end
of her prized virginity. One weak moment of disbelief
was enough to rob her of her movement
and it was this he took to his advantage
as his hands moved to pull up the hem of her skirt...
But that didn’t matter. He didn’t know her.
He was laughing.
She was crying.
Nose pressed to the glass of her laptop screen,
the one she’s had since she was barely 13,
she remembers the day, remembers the scene
like it was only yesterday he stole
Her innocence.
What can I say?
What’s in a face?
