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Literature Text
Let me tell you about a broken girl
with broken dreams
She's made of glass
yet busting at the seams
No one looked when
she came close to the ledge
Wanting to fly,
she sang her dreams like a pledge:
I want to be known
I want to write
I want to travel to where the wind is blown
I want to see the fields
made of light and grass
Where God does not yield.
Let me tell you about a broken girl
with broken dreams
She's made of glass
yet bursting at the seams
No one looked when
she slipped off the ledge
Wanting to fly,
she sang her dreams like a pledge:
I want to be known
I want to draw
I want to travel to where the wind is blown
I want to see the fields
made of light and grass
Where God does not yield.
Let me tell you about a broken girl
with broken dreams
She's made of glass
yet bursting at the seams
Someone looked when she was gone from the ledge
But it was too late.
God did not yield.
with broken dreams
She's made of glass
yet busting at the seams
No one looked when
she came close to the ledge
Wanting to fly,
she sang her dreams like a pledge:
I want to be known
I want to write
I want to travel to where the wind is blown
I want to see the fields
made of light and grass
Where God does not yield.
Let me tell you about a broken girl
with broken dreams
She's made of glass
yet bursting at the seams
No one looked when
she slipped off the ledge
Wanting to fly,
she sang her dreams like a pledge:
I want to be known
I want to draw
I want to travel to where the wind is blown
I want to see the fields
made of light and grass
Where God does not yield.
Let me tell you about a broken girl
with broken dreams
She's made of glass
yet bursting at the seams
Someone looked when she was gone from the ledge
But it was too late.
God did not yield.
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I wrote this a week ago in school. I've been depressed lately, so I decided to type it up.
© 2013 - 2024 DragonLover4Ever
Comments7
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It's ironic, despite this having been written a week ago, its timing could not have been more prudent, in light of recent events. It's almost precognitive, thinking about it, and your metaphorical stories always move me for the way the story/poem can be seemingly abstract at face-value, but as you read further in, find that it all weaves together in one eloquent story and realise the full impact of what the title construes. Maybe I'm just a sucker for angsty, depressing poetry, but this is something I found really engaging to read, and I can somehow feel the depression you were feeling then rolling off every word of this in waves, a reflection of your life and yet weirdly, chillingly poignant, knowing there was no happy ending. I also love how this poem is repetitive, but facetious in the way that lines in each verse subtly change.
While it pulls at my heart strings knowing how true this is, I find this poem to be absolutely beautiful.
While it pulls at my heart strings knowing how true this is, I find this poem to be absolutely beautiful.