Doll

I'm never good at titles, so do tell me if you can think of something better!
This is something I wrote for a poetry competition that my aunt has decided I should enter, which is in June. It's very rare that I show my poems to my family, so this was written very carefully as something that I could.

The eyes were blue,
Tired, worn,
Dead, dull,
But bright against the faded skin
Of the head, which lay
A foot from the plastic neck.
The red plaid dress,
Torn, burnt,
Threads tangled, knotted
In the matted polyester hair.

She likes to think she can see sadness
In the eyes of the doll,
But she's imagining it,
Like the she's imagining
The desperate way the fingers
Seem to grasp at the fabric of the dress,
And the flicker of a smile
On the cracked painted lips.

She looks at the doll,
And sees the fire that destroyed
Her childhood;
The memories of
A six year old girl
And the doll in the red dress-
Birthday present turned best friend-
As she watched it all burn,
The smell of acid heavy in the air.

She picks up the doll
(the head, the body, and the broken limbs),
And cradles it to her,
Smelling the acid that lingers on the clothes,
Whispering into the filthy hair,
Stroking the burnt face,
And smoothing down the creases
In what was once a little red dress.

Behind These Walls

Hiding, behind walls of rhyme,
Chaotic daydreams kept in time,
Iambic pentameter, layors of metaphor,
Protecting, concealing your
Hopes dreams and fears.


Write all your secrets, for no one will hear,
If you're singing them out, loud and clear.


You can drown your sorrows in a drink,
Made of poetry; of sonnets and haikus and ink.
You can build up walls of imagery,
With bricks made of soliloquys,
And within the walls, a box, locked,
The key; a fountain pen.


And within the box,
A notebook,
And within the book,
A poem.
And within the poem,
Where only you will know to look,
Are the words you've been silently shouting.

Narnia

I can't say I'm entirely pleased with this one, but I thought I'd post it anyway- it has it's moments, and my friends seemed to like it.

I'll take flight,

To forests of green and yellow,

With speckled sunlight on the ground.

I'll sleep, opening my eyes,

In a snowy clearing,

Where the crystals hang from the trees.

I'll stop the shaky breaths,

Completely, and reawake

In Narnia.

I'll stand in the glade,

No need to breathe, or bleed,

And just listen.

You'll all be there,

In the wind, in the trees,

and I'll tell you stories.

When the last drop of blood hits the floor,

Then I'll be in that forest, calm,

With fawns and lions,

With trees that can listen,

And a magical boy who can fly and will never grow up,

And I'll never grow old,

I'll stay,

With the white rabbit whose clock has now stopped,

And the green knight will cut my skin with his sword,

A beautiful pain that I know will last forever;

And though the wounds won't heal, 

The blood staining my clothes,

I'll stand, stock-still, bare feet on the frozen ground,

Staring at the sky I fell from,

Glad I finally reached this place.

Shattered

What better way to start than with a lovely poem filled with teenage angst, eh? You can often tell what mood I'm in by what I'm writing about, which may explain some of them. I wrote this a few months ago.

You are made of glass,

Shattering;

Shards of sanity litter the floor,

Cutting your bare feet as you walk,

But you keep your head up,

Keep walking.

The noise is getting louder, 

The whispering turns to shouting,

And it's closing in,

Crushing your lungs,

The air forced out,

You're suffocating,

Choking.

The noise courses through your veins

Like blood,

Heavy, cold, thick;

You long to let it out,

To cut through the skin,

Let it bleed,

Feel the fear flow out with the blood,

Because you are scared,

Though you try to hide it,

You're terrified.

But you keep walking.

Stare straight ahead,

One foot in front of the other;

You don't dare stop,

Or they'll get you. 

Just An Introduction

Hello there, lovely people of the internet! You've somehow stumbled upon my humble blog; I hope you enjoy your stay!
I should probably explain who I am etc. I'm Esmé- I'm currently 14, I live in a very boring little town in England, and I shall be starting my GCSEs in June. I spend the majority of my time reading, painting, writing, and worrying. I hope one day to be a writer, as it's the only real talent I have, which is basically the only reason this blog exists.
That's about all there is to me really- I'll try to update reasonably frequently with my writings, and in the meantime I hope you like this and stick around!