Eight Hundred And Eighty Five Words - Poem by Breanna Choma
We form opinions without any reasoning; it's what we are hearing, seeing, believing. Eight hundred and eighty five words spewing hate.
We replay twenty three lines full of rhymes and keep listening.
Like prayer from the service we repeat it, but we don't quite understand it.
We kill each other with the words we don't even comprehend.
Music videos appear on TV; don't ask me why we instantly feel our changing is needed.
A twelve year old girl spends lunch in a stall.
She hates her skin because it's brown, and cuts marks into her thighs for a lack of a gap.
She asks herself why they hate her, and each day she hates herself more.
Eight hundred and eighty five words spewing hate play in her ear as she walks in the hall.
They laugh and yell the words in her song and yet she turns her music up louder.
She doesn't know the song she plays is what taught them to hate.
A sixteen year old girl turns her music up louder, takes a breath, and walks to the edge.
She's had enough and the song becomes her.
Eight hundred and eighty five words spewing hate push her further and she jumps.
She falls with a gap between her thighs weighing one twenty five, but she still feels so ugly.
She just wanted to be the girl the guy wanted in the song, but the song was wrong.
Twenty three lines full of rhymes play on; don't ask me why she couldn't see beauty.
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