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Rochelle Vann Poem
Where is me?
Does anyone realize or have the time to see me inside.Where is me?
Being sure of who that girl is in the mirror scares me because she is a distant
memory.
She screams at me so loud it makes my ears ring in pain. She doesn't like who
she has become. Where is me?
Like a broken crayon with it's paper ripped off, you can't even tell what she is. You
can make a guess, but no one knows for sure.Where is me?
I can fell my chin rolling as I lay in bed. Disgusting.
People say, be happy with who you are they say, What kind of sarcasism is that?
If you can't recognize who you are anymore, how can you be happy with what
you've become..Where is me?
I am sitting in my leopard teddy with black shiny shoes on, in the basement of my
parents house. My hair is short, I like it long. My wrists are scarred from my
attention winning cutting I performed once. My eyes are bloodshot from sleep
escaping me night after night. Where is me?
Escape is found in the movies of anothers make believe reality that I find to be
better than mine. My nails are speckled with scratched off coral nail polish. My
teeth feel like they are growing moss. But at least I still shave my legs. Not all
hope is lost. I also where plain chapstick, preferrable Carmex brand. Where is
me?
Copyright © Rochelle Vann | Year Posted 2007
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