Litkicks Message Board Archive

the Game

Posted to Poetry




The sounds float right by me,
they all have a place to go.
The sounds go around me,
they only say what they think they know.
Only for a minute
in each passing day,
do the sounds reach the leftout girl
and even then they say:
"Why do you wear such messed up clothes?
Why don't you help your hair?
Why don't you move to another town;
maybe you're more welcome there!"
The tears roll down her blemished face
her eyes turn red from white.
She tried to simply wipe them away;
she says she'll be all right.
As quickly as they came, the voices left,
leaving her behind.
The are looking for the leftout boy
to play the game that they call, "Crying."