or when your thoughts turn to powerful lines.
after a more successful drive in a high school parking lot, i spent hours listening to poetry. beautiful, ranting poetry. denice frohman shouted and spoke with an audacity unknown to me. sarah kay, alex dang, so many people that i lost count, forgot the names and remembered only the power with which they all spoke.
i knew that i would give nothing more than to do exactly that, and as i yelled via text at a friend, i could hear the rhythm of each word i typed, every ounce of anger and precision i dropped into the words.
he didn't care, didn't even listen to me say stop, say shut up, tell him to fuck off. i wanted his callous words to stopstopstop, but he never did.
i typed poetically, but that doesn't matter to the ones who shit on the problems i had with those prying words.
YOU ARE READING
Smart Girl
Non-Fictionthoughts from the smart girl. //the journal of wren// //highest rank #2 in non fiction// //all names of real people interacted with here are altered from their original versions for privacy's sake//
