Treasure Island

Hannah Hebditch

Its The Same Day

I thought today would be
Different, but there’s still blood smudged
Into my eyes, tears drowning my heart
It’s still a river of emotions stabbing on the
Inside, like the jagged rocks you threw at my face
And the pocket knife you scraped over my legs
I used to hide between my bruised skin
And nearly broken bones, but your words
Eventually loosened the knots that captured
The hurt that was carving around
My eyes, I fell into a flood
“Weak” you called me
As you hammered my arms off the side
Of an imaginary cliff- it still hurt the same
Blood still poured through the holes you pierced into me

I hope my death was smeared across your sight
I hope it seeped into you “bully, murderer”

Submitted: Saturday, March 30, 2013
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poet Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

When the hours of Day are numbered,
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To a holy, calm delight;

Ere the evening lamps are lighted,
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