hummingbird girl

She's hidden, cowering in the corner,

as she waits, mouth open,

words frozen on her lips.

She does not speak.

I mold my sadness into poetry and she watches me,

amber eyes taking in everything and nothing.

I ask her about her life and she answers, 

in short bursts, as if she's forcing herself to.

 

Sometimes I see her in my dreams--

she's standing in a meadow there, sunlight streaked across her face,

wearing a white dress.

She waves at me.

 

I wait for the end of days to come even though it won't,

like how she waits for me, so patiently,

then says nothing as we walk down the hall,

fluorescent lights mirrored on the floor's glossy surface.

 

She held my hand once, she cried, mascara streaking her face like smog.

I told her everything would be okay--

what a superficial word that was, and she knew it.

But she still clung to my arm and said she believed me. 

 

Once she was mean--the kind of mean that hurts. She apologized later, but

the memory still stung.

 

She flits in and out of my life like a hummingbird, so effortless,

hair tied back and face plastered with her signature fake smile.

Sometimes I'm not sure who she is, 

until I see a girl in my dreams with sun in her face, and I remember.

star

NH

14 years old

More by star

  • at home on a winter's night

    The thick night cloaks everything and the snow follows suit

    a delicate dance, welcome

    after two years of rainy Decembers. 

    My room is cold even though

    the heat is blasting, so I sit

  • Australia

    At school we draw in the margins of our notebook paper

    and toy with the idea of moving to Australia. 

    We look up the latest news in between classes, knowing that

    the teachers will think we're addicted to our phones.

  • Apple Cider

    I want to drink apple cider with you 

    Like it’s a fine wine, 

    Make-believe adult, wrapped in your wool blanket, 

    Counting the minutes until your parents return.