So now my mornings start off with tea and medicine instead of coffee, but that’s fine, as long as I’m alive.
I begin listening to instrumentals of songs because sometimes it sounds a lot better than the actual song with words. Some beats are more soothing than others and depending on your mood, it’s a great vibe, and what’s even better is being able to pick the song closest to describing your mood.
Anyway, I started a poem/short story a month ago, was listening to instrumentals and just started writing. Check it out!
Suddenly going through the same thing finally got boring.
Being misunderstood all the time became annoying.
The streets knowing more about who she loved than she did, made her question her bid, as she begun to no longer care, like she felt like he did.
She finally dipped off after all that crying and trying to save something that was emotionally dying.
“I’m coming back,” she smiled, kissed him on his cheek, and left everything she owned.
Tryna get away from the pain, leaving the memories home.
Left her key, crossed the street and just started walking.
People waived, smiled, yelled her name, but she did no talking.
Where she was going? Back to where she came from, when she was tryna start over before, Love hit her, but pain won.
Stress made her invision that she needed somebody there, and when she turned around, the wrong people seemed to not care.
Where she came from, they stole half of her clothes, “We don’t know what happened”, is what she was told.
Back to where she came from, but in a different town. One where nobody she wanted to see was really around.
Where she came from was a temporary shelter for housing assistance, but some sort of loving from someone was needed, because this was different.
So she did it anyway, as independent as she’ll ever be. With the help of some members from her family.
Ain’t tell nobody where she was staying or why she chose it because she had to learn on her own what it felt like to really do everything all alone.
what you think?
Literaturebyjessc 
Leave a Reply