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?