angella felies - finished - d7
Aug 29, 2013 6:57:09 GMT -5
Post by willow . on Aug 29, 2013 6:57:09 GMT -5
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I am a broken bird they say, my wings are snapped and no matter how much I try to fly I cannot lift myself off of the ground. My feet stay planted upon the earth and my hands wave wildly in the air as I try desperately to touch the stars above me, the stars that sit and taunt me every night as I sleep. And yet no matter how wildly I flap my hands, my broken wings will never propel me into the air, up those trees, and into the sky where destiny awaits.
I will always be a being of the ground.
"Don't go too high," That's what my sitter said as she sat on the porch with her boyfriend, their lips interlocked as she pulled away for one moment to mutter those words at me. I remember so clearly as I walked over to that tree on my spindly legs, looking up at the towering branches and wanting so much to sit on the highest one, facing out to the world.
As I began to climb the wood scraped at my hands and my bare feet, splinters embedding themselves into my soft skin, I finally felt free. I couldn't care that I was being hurt by the wood, I wanted to reach the top and nothing would stop me from getting to my goal, to seeing the world which I had never been allowed to see before. So even as the branches whipped at my face and the bark stained my pale feet, I refused to stop. And meanwhile, the sitter did nothing, she just sat there, hungrily kissing the male next to her; she didn't care if I fell. And I liked that.
Unfortunately I was a bit heavy and a branch did snap and I fell, nearly to my death if it hadn't been for the soft grass stopping me from going to the other side. The sitter was fired and I was never allowed to climb that tree again. I didn't care what they said, I would do whatever I wanted, because to this day I still dream about reaching the top and looking out at the world.
Because, when I do, my life will finally be complete.
”Angella, stay off of the playground.” Mother looks at me and smiles, it’s a fake smile though, I can see right through the slight curve of it and the way that her lips dip down in such a hinting way as she stares at me. I don’t want to listen to her, I want to climb those things until my small birdy bones break and I slip to the ground in a heap of dust. Until I die there, on my last breath.
She doesn't care though; I’m just a burden for her, the little girl with the strong mind but with the arms that can hardly lift an inch. I’m a mistake, a child with no purpose. All of my brothers and sisters have jobs; they all are worth something to the family; while I’m just another mouth to feed.
And yet another part of me doesn't care, just as long as one day I’m allowed to make my way to the highest point of the earth, then, I will prove how strong I really am. I will show them all that I’m not the little butterfly that they think I am; I will show them that I am a lion. They will see that my bones are strong, that I’m not going to break, and that I don’t bruise as easily as they think that I do. Mentally, they know that I’m strong, but one day, I will prove to them that I am physically strong as well.
Only then will they see the real me.
I’ve grown up in a considerably large family with many sisters and brothers; so many that I cannot honestly name them all off at the top of my head. They are all perfect through, even Forest, the only sister that will really ever bothers to pay attention to me as she wanders through the trees; I know that she thinks of me, she cares. You see, she too is an outsider, a leech to the family that I am forced to live in.
She’ll walk in my room and visit me, Forest with her beautiful hair and eyes the color of leaves, and she’ll sit and talk to me, about what the outside world is like. I will intently listen as she speaks, hearing every bit of the words that come forth from her mouth, her beautiful hair framing her face. I always have wished that I looked like Forest. I hate the brown curls that wave messily around my head and the freckles that dot my face like acne. Honestly, I’ve been told that I look barbaric, wild, and ghoulish. I wish those kids would know how much those names hurt.
And how much I wish that I could pound their heads in with my strong fists and make them feel all of the pain that I feel every day. Only then, as I sit on the treetops, will I be happy.
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template - zoe
faceclaim - elisabeth vandenbergh
words -
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