Creative

(a poem on intense female friendships, by Sheenam Sharma)   I put you on a pedestal, And now I look up at you looking down on me, like an enigma so forgettable… I told you where it hurts, And you didn’t hesitate to stab right there, like it was already rehearsed… You told me I meant everything to you, And I believe your words more than your eyes telling lies, behind the beautiful hazel hue.. I gave you my mind, my heart, and my soul, And you didn’t flinch a minute to turn that love into pain, taking a toll…

Part I: Their arm is outstretched not at all tentatively. Purposefully,  their frame shifts to your eyes and lingers.   That’s how  they looked at your, owl-wide eyes it was like you were iridescent, through those years, like your eyes were pinned painfully open. Glimpsed in everyone’s peripheral, the glare affronting but you couldn’t say it hurt you you didn’t know why when you closed your eyes you dissipated into every orifice.      You didn’t want too disappear, but doesn’t everyone think that would fix it?

I want to write.   I want to write.  I really just want to write.    Like I don’t know what it is about writing except that same old cliché:  something inside of me wants me to do it, it wants me to write.    Here's the funny thing though, I am not sure what to write.  How I should write.  Why should I write it and not MYYY WAYYY ya know.   Frustrating it is, but frustratingly enough,  I still just really want to write. It’s funnier when you know my feeling. That feeling before writing, where I have