Tomorrow
There is a girl.
Her mother loves her,
She fights with her brothers,
Gets caught up in all the glory
Of junior high drama.
Painting comes so naturally.
As does crying over
her pathetic crush.
All is tranquil underneath her pleasant smile,
Until her best friend attempts the unthinkable,
Death.
Depression slams into her side.
She paints frequently only gaining the joy in life
From the finished product.
She receives no attention from her parents,
And cringes at the thought
of giving any in return for nothing.
Basking in the array of self-pity.
Things change.
She speaks with her father,
It's a first.
Having been ignored for an eternity
He wallows in the adult age of silence.
Underneath the sky
Moon streaks down her face
As she gathers thoughts
Drawn from his eyes.
Thoughts that were never thought to be seeked.
This whole life is gone,
Birthing to a new.
All creativity ever gained in young hood
Is misplaced.
Either permanently, or to be found again.
It starts at her base,
Spreads up and around, encircling her spine,
With the single goal to block out
Every material care.
Old enlighteners see cases such as this
A miracle,
But they don’t care about having
A material identity.
Her head is beneath a stone.
Her body is aware.
She can’t write,
But she strives for journalism.
She needs a mother,
But she refuses to sacrifice her beliefs
In order to survive.
Her mind is no longer hiding away,
Void of creativity.
It is one step ahead she wants.
Out of high school
Out of The House.
She’s already mingling
With the tension of work ethic.
All she wants,
As well as physically needs,
Is to survive and to move ahead
Where she can succeed.
She needs is to survive this.
Till tomorrow.
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