What I see

I look at her in the mirror
I wonder if this what they see
Because she is not what I feel

I feel like a void
A screaming abyss that wants someone to look
Why won't they look?
They dare not face me
When they look at me, do I remind them of what they've done?

I feel my own blood and tears on my face
I feel like my ire is burning deep in my chest
They do not see this
They see deep blue eyes and wavy brown hair
They see my clean skin and my shaky hands
They see my smiles
And they do not see my tears

They dare not look at them
I think it reminds them of what they have done
Or, in reality, what they have not done
They say that a child not embraced by the village will burn it down to feel its warmth
My house is empty yet filled with noise
It's cold and damp
I see my breath
As I huddle under my blanket, I want to go home
I have no home

—------

Envy

I've never been good at writing
I've never been good at speaking
I've never been good at art
Still yet I do these things,
Reaching for the approval that everyone else gets
I do not see how this is fair
I work to improve these things, but I feel stagnant like a bird with a broken wing
I'm lying on the ground
I am cold
I am dead, but my heart still beats

I envy the people around me
So much so that it burns my eyes
Tears stream down my scowling face
“ Why can't they see me?”
I am a face in an endless crowd
My writing juvenile with little rhyme
I go against many things, yet I stay quiet
I fear that if I speak too much, they will show contempt
I need the praise yet if I ask for it
They shall take it away

—-----

Dinner

At sitting at the set table
It's tablecloth clean and linen, lacy and sheer
Food sets atop, plates, and plates
The cutlery shines a blueish silver
Candles gleam a golden glow
There's so much food, it's practically falling off the table
Still, my plate stays empty
I must serve the others before myself
They had forgone the knives and forks and spoons
Their black talons scramble for more

“ Give me a leg”, one cries
So I cleanly slice it, putting it on his plate

“ I need the stuffing!” The shadows creak out
So I grabbed the laydel and put it on his plate
He screamed, screaming for more
So I give it to him
The silk of my dress stained with the food and blood

“I need your face!” He says
So I grab the knife, and it slice it off too
The blood coats the knife
It coats my dress
And I plop in his hands
I must feed them before myself
I must do what they please
My body is not my own
They tell me to play, and so I do

In the end, there's no food
I'm sitting in my chair
No tears left to shed
Cleaning up their mess