For You Are Not Forgotten

the heart that is blind does not measure treachery with its hand

they do not rely on the echo of the wall

nor the counts of the steps walked

nor the breathes, whispers and mumbles the wind transmit

they close their eyes to the beauty of the blue sky and ignore water is blue

they'll be chugging through rink water in red walls

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Bola, pass through the plane.

There lies a world where the blue lake will greet with you. You'll see-

bang

A thud from my fall off the bed. Astral- lun- what was it they call it? Running my fingers through the screen to find it. Levitation. Lucid. That's it. Tried to find the way but reading the manual makes an itchy teen bored. No life is like the movie, gotta make it fun for yourself. Don't even have the courage to like oneself. I'll sneeze the itch out of myself. Dumb fools.

The train of thought of a youngin' really don't make sense. Doesn't have to when their lives such a mess. Or so they think, she'll be walking through muddy waters for the rest of her life either ways.

snooze

She's off now, down and dead. That's how they sleep: the real sleep comes after the alarm. They start their days with panic and rushing, gives them the adrenaline to fight the prickly teachers and nasty dogs. They fight the dogs too, with fuck off at least. Got no patience to live. That'll be the demise of her. A nasty child.

Ma!

I've got to go back in, forgot my ID.

They'll switch like a nugget at the sight of water: crunchy then soggy. The rain drenches them and ignites them with anger, the sun scorches them to become the fire, the wind pushes them to runt to trouble and the blue breeze soothes their calmness. A nonsense age. Youth never gives them an answer. The calming rain don't touch them with just the same angle or intensity it does the floor. That's why they'll say the sound is soothing but the feels is thundering. Unless they're in their packs, of course, now the madness is innate. No discourse of nature or nurture. Useless fools, the agbayas rain.

They'll come, they'll go. They'll run.

horn

Bola!

A drive to school with music that sings on the cursive. Some fixing and tying of tie on the way too. The treasured days, they call it. Everyone there is running to grow tho. Can't imagine another day of this class. It's final year and the last lecture class of my top prickly teacher. After this, no 40 minutes fight of drowsiness. Just brain frying and head scratching reading the examiners' spells. Deranged life, that's what she's living.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

Mess of a thinking too. Friends that push her out of the line of path, that she has to run to catch up with all the while carrying the smile that spells pathetic, or so she thinks. Anyone can see it's not about her. They're just not kind enough to distance themselves, they love to keep it stringing on like master puppeteers. Guys she blinks at for the life of her are wary of getting closer. She'll see the other romances, forbidden, happening and think she's living a fair life. Deep fried in the expectations whispered by so friends that he'll come one day with swag and sway their love away. And when she cringes from his lack of brain, she'll reboot and tell herself he'll be her man. Funny days. Called herself a clown too at the end. Won't ever let the joke of a life she lived die. Sad days and she'll cry for it for the rest of her days.

horn

She's still there running behind sending her better half to her car while her mom watches with a steady gaze following her daughter's shining eyes. The eyes you see from the princesses in their so-told zenith of bliss. Pitiful, but that's her girl. Said some words and she took heed with a bitter ear. Turn the other way and went running after those that jumped and bunked out of their days. What a child, living what she thought was what a life. Pitiful, she'd called herself pathetic during those days after she broke her rosy eyes and before she learnt to jump.

Still feeling sorrowful from the lack of inclusion, she'd soothe herself with the birthday party she got that took place at the beach near the sea vastly greater than the one last year. A bitter truth landed on her the year prior: she got no remembrance from her better half of a friend of her day. The day she was given to the world, held with such carelessness by her greatest love. She'd given her self love to her best and watched it withered away after her best ran with another to enjoy the late nights of a popular high schooler. Foolish days. Foolish ways, she'd be too stunted to realize the worth she had thrown away in the value of herself. Sitting in that classroom alone kicking her feet like a little one after. She did not find the eyes to see the greatness she hold with those glassy eyes. Still wishing she could be part of the team that ran around the class playing tag when she was on the fasting day, more less, they weren't her friends, didn't even care to ask her to join when they came in and started to run. She was eager though, to jump and ask if she could be part of the childlike antics. Childlike she'd called, while noting the difference between childlike and childish. What a child with such a heart still finding no worth in herself. Came the 12th year and she got the courage to bunk and skip against her top rank yet none to show her love to that soul.

Darling would have to come at night and soothe her from the hate she'd instilled in herself, beaten in by the world that saw it as one way of humbling. Didn't know the Merriam-Webster definition of humbling was self-depreciation yet. Such days. Praying for a jinn to love and swearing no friends to keep her sanity, couldn't complete that promise, she'd fear she'd only drive herself to kill the problem she was born. A mess of a life. Now, she's here looking back with joy at the greatness and plaque from graduating after grueling days of hiding under her table from fear of bursting the pathetic writing she'd forced herself to do. A pity little child who was never told she was beautiful in greatness worth.

Pity

Little girls

Like their hair

Their hands too

Loving their jumps and runs

Friends they don't know

Won't drive with them to Rio

Broke their hearts

Worse than boys

Still willing to give their card to a boy of their friend's choosing

Foolish days they'd live in

Believing they couldn't stop their foolish ways