This is a piece my friend Victor wrote for me today. It's about how much I hate someone named Brianna, but you really can't tell. He wrote it in one class period after I asked him to at the last minute. I love his writing.
Engines roar in the background,
drowning out my screams with the sound of airplanes.
People coming and going, saying "Goodbye, but not for long!"
"Have a safe trip."
"Bring back a souvenir."
And I can't say goodbye so easily,
because no amount of consumerism can be worth as much as your presence.
So let's skip this pretense and cut straight to the dying,
sacrifice ourselves on the runway so they'll never forget.
At least, that's what I would have said,
if were lesbians, and you weren't a bitch.
Now, it's all I can do to keep from stabbing you,
blunt object or not, if it's in my hand, I want it to be in your chest.
Cries ring out of "whore," but you sure don't take a hint.
And outsiders secretly enable the process of breaking up
by being blind to the fact that I hate you.
(Perhaps it's because society blinded them of insight long ago.)
Breaking up is a long process,
it's been 1 and 1/4 years, and you're still here.
Hopefully it will end soon, but I really doubt it.
People like us take a long time.