Olive147's profile

There are tiny little cracks In my stomach In my lungs In my head And if I breathe too deep Or think too hard A flood of tears will start Seeping through those cracks And my carefully constructed dam Will be no more Just a pile of shattered glass Beside my bed And all that will be left of me Is the huge, salty wet spot On my pillow case  

The trees surrounding the glass house aren't trees. They are the twisted, spiraling spirits of trees, the hollow shells left over from the life long departed of them. They reach their probing, withered fingers longingly towards the sun. But, no matter how brightly the sun shines, or how thickly the rain falls, it doesn't reach them, and the old trees remain just that.   Old.   Not old in the majestic, wise, powerful way, but in a way that makes you feel the need to cringe and look a...

Friday, and a nasal buzzing signifies the end of seventh period. I walk a little too fast through the swarming cement halls of seventh and eighth graders, being buffeted every which way, slowed down. The other students chatter loudly, another sort of nasal buzzing that I block out. Past the Assistant Principal who yells at somebody for their shorts being too short. I accidently brush into his shoulder and wonder whether he has tagged me as rude and disrespectful as he has most of the others b...

An Army of Windmills In strict strait lines atop hills All moving in agitated, continuous motion Even in their perpetual stillness Forever marring the landscape With their metal skeletons, Ominous, spinning daggers.   But who am I to judge? Ane who am I to complain? A hypocrite...   Eight lanes of traffic People obliviously going about their lives. They don't see what they are doing, Because they don't look. I look, And I see. Eight lanes of traffic Carved relentlessly into the hill...

I stand beside her, watching as she scrutinizes herself in the mirror. While I see only beauty and perfection, she frowns over flaw after flaw. Her slender, perfect brows pull into a line over the deep, round pools of cerulean in her porcelain face. Touching her soft, fair hair that waves gently to the middle of her back, the frown etches itself deeper into her face. She studies her smooth complexion and the light in her beautiful eyes fades and they darken almost unnoticeably, but still enou...