At a time when my life was a very dark place, I wrote this. The original form was about a page in MS Word in a short story form with paragraphs. I didn’t realize at the time that the story was completely about me. I edited it a couple of times.
I accidently gave it to my creative writing teacher in college when I handed in another assignment, and she wrote some comments and notes on how I could improve the piece. One of the things she told me that in an epic poem format, it would have more impact on the reader. I took her notes and advice and improved it. She was completely right about turning into a poem.
No longer do I live in this darkness. I have finally been able to start leaving my past in the past, taking the life lessons it’s taught me, and leaving the rest behind. It all still saddens me sometimes, but it no longer controls me every day. I have done this without professional help. Maybe I should still talk to a therapist, but for now I think I’m okay.
If you read closely and in between the lines, I think you can figure out what happened to me as a child.
—
Sadness and fear grow like a wild rose bush,
Thorns tearing into your flesh,
Vines twisting and turning,
Trying to find an escape.
Love shrinks,
A wilting bud on the cusp of death.
The roses here are not red,
They are black.
There’s a little girl standing near the rose bush,
You can see her side,
But most of her face is hidden in shadows.
She’s only about four or five years old,
Her hair is long and unkempt.
It’s light brown,
And goes to the middle of her back.
Do you see the wind snatch it and twirl it around?
And just behind her, there’s a party.
People,
Laughing, drinking, whispering, dancing and flirting…
Paying her no mind.
They are wearing all white.
White shirts, white sport coats,
White dresses, skirts.
White tents blow in the light breeze,
White table clothes billow slightly.
White chairs and white plates.
Crystal glasses sparkle white wine.
Their skin is alabaster stone,
Pure.
Your attention goes back to the little girl,
This poor creature.
You notice her clothes,
A black t-shirt, ripped and too small,
Can you see her ribs sticking out?
A pair of blue jean shorts,
Where frays show where they were cut off.
Do you see her white stick legs?
You feel like taking her into your arms,
And protecting this young girl.
She needs to eat,
You want to give her the world.
She was born of them,
But she’s not one of them.
Cast out,
Cast aside.
Do you hear that thunder?
It’s so angry,
Angry at the injustice of her.
She’s been neglected and abused,
And the world is furious.
You look at the sky and see dark black clouds.
It starts to rain tears,
And the party continues without a care.
When the tears fall on them,
You see that the tears are tears of blood.
The sky is bleeding for her.
Their white clothing is stained,
With the blood of the sky,
And they don’t care.
Their laughter seems to grow louder,
Trying to rival the thunder that incessantly grows.
It starts to sound twisted and grotesque,
Disgust fills your mind as you watch them.
There’s crimson blood on their white faces,
Tainted.
You look back at the little girl now,
This mystery of a girl.
The bloody rain does not touch her.
She bends a rose off the bush,
And, fiercely clenched in her hand,
The thorns pierce her skin.
Her innocence flows out with her rich, warm blood.
Somehow you know that this was a point,
A point of no return.
You know it’s true with every fiber of your being.
Her arm that holds the rose is at her waist,
The other hangs motionlessly at her side.
Do you see her blood, running down her arm,
Onto her fist, and down onto the ground?
After staring at the rose for what feels like eternity,
her gaze turns toward you,
Her body still faced away.
Are you locking eyes with her?
Her eyes are electric blue,
The bluest of eyes you will ever see.
They hold you, never letting you go.
Do you see the tears of blood,
Running down her pale face?
Do you see the never-ending pain in her eyes?
She’s got bruises,
On her body and on her heart.
She’s been a victim,
But until now her innocence had been maintained.
In a moment,
It was shattered.
This girl mesmerizes you,
You want to give her so much,
Your heart aches,
But she’s so unreachable.
She’s so close to you,
Yet so very far away.
Do you see her in your mind,
Standing next to the black rose bush?
You notice the party behind her,
It’s gotten even louder,
The laughter more garish,
And still,
No one but you notices her.
Do you scream for her,
Telling her to put the rose down?
Even though you know it’s too late,
Do you try to run for her?
But,
You notice that your feet are glued to the ground,
And for some reason unknown to you,
You cannot move toward her.
Do you stretch out your hand to her?
Although you stand only feet from her,
You cannot reach her.
She’s so close,
Yet too far away.
Do you yell at her,
Telling her to come to you?
How can you yell over the wind rain and thunder?
Are you crying for her?
The black rose bush starts to crumble,
Turning to a pile of blood and ashes.
It’s fulfilled its purpose,
And ceases to exist.
Her rose remains perfect,
Black silk petals a flag of loss.
No matter what you say,
She cannot hear you.
She just holds your eyes captive,
Never wavering, never letting you go.
The laughter behind her has begun to mock you.
They know what you try to do and jeer you for it.
They point and stare at you,
But you don’t care.
You still try,
But still you cannot reach her.
Are you still crying for her?
She warned beforehand that this time, there probably wouldn’t be any stripping 
I was excited, because XTV is probably my favorite feature here; I think it’s a great way for all of us to communicate and get to know each other. Unfortunately, I don’t get to see many because I work second shift =[
. This is my first job with a position of being in charge of people, and I’ve changed my strategy a bit. I used to be buddy buddy with my employees, but I quickly found out people walk all over you when you do that.
