Our Haggard Hearts | Teen Ink

Our Haggard Hearts

February 2, 2015
By Lilia PLATINUM, El Cajon, California
Lilia PLATINUM, El Cajon, California
22 articles 14 photos 17 comments

Favorite Quote:
Raise your words, not your voice. It is rain that grows flowers, not thunder. ~ Rumi

Blue Boy babies begrudgingly breathe, born into beautiful bliss,
burping blooming blueberry bubbles onto the buttery bibs of bigger brothers
Meanwhile, mild mannered mothers mourn
mysterious maladies or murders of massive magnitude, moaning madly with melancholy
underneath umbrellas of uncontrollable uncomfort
Undulating, undone under unfolding unfortunate untold stories of unpleasant uncles
Like long, lean, lying Uncle Larry
Lurking and leering like a lonely, lily-livered lion
Preparing to pervertedly pounce upon pretty, pampered, Polly-Pocket-playing paper dolls.
Perhaps people pretend to partake in polite priorities instead of the putrid profanities
happening haphazardly, heralding hefty, humiliating, hermaphroditic horrors and hurt hearts.
Hence, Hemingway’s honest hand at handsomely hurtling a bullet into his hopeless head.
See, sometimes silver suicide snakes slither silently into someone’s softest secret spaces
Ssssssing suspiciously-- salivating over the stubborn sadness like superior, soulless sovereigns.
Obviously, obtuse opinions open our own organized, ominous minds
ostracizing obscene omens over oblivious orderly opposites
But beware because blue baby boys blossom, and then burn and barter
They too tear temples to tatters, take time to tease and torture the last three thousand tigers
So I'm sorry Sister, sins sink slowly into our skin like silly sunbeams, surpassing all sudden surges of strategy
We want what we want when we want it, which winds up warning us only when we wake, wilted and wooden with the wailing of washed up whales
hanging on the hinges of our hollow, haggard, homeless hearts.

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