Two Boreds In A Poem

In which the eccentric writer writes about a whiteboard and a blackboard. PS: After reading the poem, you'll get the pun.

Two Boreds In a Poem

My words can’t seem to fall out, as you touch my lips.

I look into your deep blue eyes, as I type this now.

My mind,

telling me to stop,

but my hands,

flying over the keys.

Well,

not flying,

my fingers have lost their grace,

and smooth agility,

and what was now a beautiful song of clicks and

hard nails hitting the plastic,

is an awkward jumble,

of fingers pressing first,

a T-

no wait,

A comes first.

My thoughts pierce my common sense,

and demand to be heard,

even surging through my sudden incompetence,

in the skill I once reveled at.

But I continue anyway,

and I start my poem,

for it is my painting.

She is not quite sure how to tell him,

for where should she start?

At the start perhaps,

but where exactly is that?

She decides,

to tell him,

through paper.

It is what she is good at after all.

The Whiteboard

She walks into school,

her first day,

freshmen.

Among the other,

milling and buzzing students.

She tries to fit in,

in the weeks that follow.

She laughs at what they laugh,

and cry when they cry.

She doesn’t look much beyond her circle,

of safety,

and belonging.

For sharks swim around her island,

but on it,

she is untouchable,

as long as she never steps off.

Until she does.

It was an accident,

she cries over and over to herself one night.

It was just an accident.

But a shark,

doesn’t forgive and forget.

It doesn’t let you go,

and nothing has ever escaped.

Her island,

no longer wants her anymore.

Her friends,

her circle,

decides to surrender,

rather than fight.

And so she,

never stands a chance against the circling group,

of monsters,

that multiply in numbers every day.

And then it starts.

There is no easing into the pain,

no small incidents,

that gradually increase in humiliation and number.

They hit her hard.

She sobs for hours every night,

willing the words,

and sneers,

and laughter,

and taunting to go away.

She is innocent to this world,

and it’s ways.

Like a clean slate,

a new whiteboard.

And they scribble all over her,

with their permanent markers,

(too mean to use Expo)

and she is,

helpless to their abuse.

Wishing that she could erase all of it,

so she vows,

to become stronger,

smarter,

better.

And when they push her,

she pushes back.

When they tease her,

she replies,

as snarkily as she can.

For a while,

it works.

Their meaningless words,

are scrawled all over her board,

but she wipes them away,

and moves on.

Knowing that if she doesn’t,

it will eat her alive.

But after time,

she can still see the marks,

light,

and faint,

but there.

The eraser,

is still as good as new,

but the board,

even though it is clean,

will never be as white,

and as new as it was in the beginning.

Look closely,

and see,

the hidden scars.

Because as much as she wipes,

as much as she denies,

some ink,

some words, will still be there.

She doesn’t need the pity,

she tells him.

For they are battle scars,

not scars to be worn with shame.

A defiant look is given.

They are suddenly interrupted,

when her little sister,

comes rushing in through the door.

“Hey sis,”

She says-

she stops when she sees her big sister and him in deep thought.

With a shrug,

she heads back to her room.

Sighing,

she falls onto the bed,

almost tripping over a box,

poking out from underneath her bed.

On it,

a white scratched poem,

with deep meaning,

and thoughtful thoughts.

Titled,

Blackboard

Long sleeves conceal scarred wrists

black jeans hide unshaved legs

-for why should you even bother?

You don’t look anyone in the eye

not because you are afraid of them

but because you are afraid of yourself

And how you will scare them

Broken

you don’t bother to hide your pain

It does not swell

deep inside of you like a raging monster

fighting to be released

but drowns you

smothering you

until you almost don’t want to breathe

Black tears torn clothes no makeup red blood scarred skin

Time heals pain

but this

it will never heal

This can never be healed

There used to be rare moments

after doing something wrong

there would be times when you remembered it detail

every emotion

every face

and you would feel the pain rush over you

for a minute

or ten

unbearably

but you would forget about the painful moment

and go on moping

the way you were before

But not now

every moment

You feel the feeling

of wrong

of bad

of pain

After being in it for so long

there are moments

where

in your crazy

insane mind

a thought would emerge

that the hurt

is so bad

so breaking

that the unbearable

is now the bearable

Now

whenever a moment of hope

or notion of something other than hurt

emerges

jealousy

anger

happiness

you will it to go away

and never come back

it is not

knowing that once the feeling is gone the pain will hit twice as hard

that makes you want the feeling to go away

it is knowing

that having lived in pain for so long

how do you remember to live in something else?

So you live like this

no

not live

you die

over and over again

every day

minute

second

your mind black

and dark

as the night?

no

darker

blacker

scarier

Like a blackboard

a thought thinks

while you stare

mindlessly at the new

board

behind the teacher’s desk in class

not a smudge of white

not a scratch

Unlike you then

it thinks again

for you are scratched beyond imagination

And then it happens

“I like your shoes, they’re, chic.”

The girl next to you says

You freeze

not quite sure what to do

You haven’t spoken

like this

in a long time

“Thanks”

you manage to croak out

shocked

an emotion:

surprise

you squeeze your eyes shut

go away

go away

but it won’t until a few minutes later

by then

your thoughts are racing to the surface

and you can’t keep them down

she likes your shoes

your shoes

Your shoes!

You walk around in a daze

the rest of the day

not fully believing it

on the ride back home

you finally realize

that the hammering

heart breaking

hurting pain

is gone

no

not gone gone

it is still there

still present in the back of your mind

but her compliment

her words

are stronger

than the pain

How can that be?

How can that be?

How can that be?

It is like

that good moment

the one you feel after doing something good

pride maybe?

or taking a chance

or proving someone wrong

and the feelings are on replay

over and over

Tomorrow the pain will come again

but

you know

and you will embrace it

But deep

hidden so deep

it will never emerge

you think

that you might be

like a blackboard

and everytime

somebody writes

something good on you

(the bad won’t show, you're already all black)

you’ll remember it

never erase it

and it will stay

with you

until you have enough

white

words

to cover

your black space

She hits the last words with a dramatic flourish and sits back in her chair,

proud,

a little

Even though she knows,

it was just something

to pass the time

and take her mind

off the looming

temptation

Author's Note

Feel free to review, just try to be as HONEST as you can, I can take critism, heck, I can take full out INSULTS!