Sweet Girl

I believe I wrote this 3 years ago when I was 16. I was in a very different place, and this probably pretty different from how I write now. Nonetheless, I believe it’s an interesting piece, certainly worth sharing, and if anything, a good way to measure progress. Enjoy!

bare feet on a vibrant green field of grass. moving with grace only a child could possess. she smiles and the sun lights her rosy cheeks and reflects off of her auburn hair. the sweet scent of daisy fills her lungs. a scent not yet recognizable, not yet associated with the idea of a man attempting to earn her love and her trust. she runs with the grace of a young goddess; she speaks with the air of innocence in her lungs, breathing life into all around her.

she lies down, her smile grows and her eyes widen as the clouds roll in. the dusk is approaching. the cool air sets in. her hair blows in the wind, causing it to wrinkle and wave. she shivers and sighs. eyes locked on a distant creek; water flowing, the new replaces the old and the cycle continues. everything is so fresh. the birds in the sky, the strange noises they make, it is all a discovery.

innocence is tragedy.

cold stilettos on the concrete. moving with the presence of obscured insecurity. she bites her lip and the sun burns her eyes and reflects off of her freshly waxed legs. the strong scent of cigarettes fills her lungs. the scent is all too familiar, accompanied by the intense craving for nicotine and rough sex. she walks with the grace of a goddess; she speaks with the sheer power of lust lingering within her every breath, enticing everyone around her.

she sits down, her lips part slightly and her heart races against her mind. the dusk is approaching. the cool air sets in. her hair is pinned back and unmoving. she shivers, and a tear runs down her cheek. eyes locked on to a distant lie; that everything will be all right. the new problems replace the old and the cycle continues. everything is worn and tired. the city folk, the strange things they do, everything is bitter and cold.

tragedy is inevitable.

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