11/29 Writing Group

I went to my very first writing group.
I came prepared with writing, but not hard copies for everyone. 
Those hard copies are important, especially when part of the group can't hear the tone of your voice!

Here's the writing...waiting to be critiqued by them and you...
Written while at Manitou Park
SoTac Kids


Head down, covered, hidden.
Eyes sad, tired, darting.
Outerwear black, torn, layered.
Trying to fend off anyone coming close, less they see the soft tenderness that pain has pierced.
Voices loud, squealing, shrieking, screaming ‘look at me’, but don’t look too close less you see the brokenness and I’ll be moving.
Today.
Boy curled tightly underneath the park play structure
He is bigger than a ball, a child. 
He is almost a man. 
He is large, but not in charge. 
Of his life, he cannot make it. 
Structures falling down all around him. 
Life is not a park nor a playground, but a disaster.

Boy pushing up against girl for all to see. 
She only wants to be seen by him, knowing she must play the part, in humiliation in front of friends, in front of strangers, in front of him if she is to be seen.
If he were not touching her, would he see her, know that she is there?
Ache, longing, but not for lust to explode, but to be seen, so she does not implode.
Sucking on the string of his hoody, an invitation, a deviation. Sucking the life out of her/him.

What are their names?
What are their stories?
They are but sentences with no structure.
Subject.
Object.
Passive.
Lives needing/wanting/dying for edits.

Written while at Bell Square
Bellevue 
Do you like the view?
All the way to the hem of my short shorts, my short skirt.
My tight jeans
Costing more than anything you can
ask for with a 
Please
Love me in my perfect facade
My tight little bod
My broken heart
My trumped dreams
I've slept with the enemy
My dad, his boss
That's what it costs to look this good.
I am exactly the same as any girl in the hood.
I am broken.

My sweet little smile
costs thousands
of cracks in my heart
Look good
Be good
Stand straight
Date
The right boy
Be his toy
The parents ploy
To break them, to get attention
so they can see - I need
not a nose job, designer clothes or a yacht
but to be caught 
by arms
of love and held there until I'm put back together.
I am broken.

Thoughts?
Critique?
Share your own writing?


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