Her

Something deeper that I wrote out, trying it out, meant to be read as a slam poem.

     When I found the perfect girl it was like finding a blood diamond in the mines of Africa. This, coincidentally, described what our relationship would be like, secretive and dangerous. It started like every relationship, awkwardly holding hands through the hallway, and hugging goodbye, texting at night about the future, and going to sleep with each other in our heads. I eventually delved deeper into her personal life, the good and bad, bad usually outweighing the good, not to say we weren’t a great match! Oh no, we wrote letters to each other, sat next to each other, making sure people could see us as a great couple. But behind all that, in texts where nobody can hear or see what you write, is where everything usually comes out. The scars she showed me that I didn’t know I wanted to see, all the hurt she feels pushed onto me like a rolling tide, throwing angry words at me when she thinks I’m against her. Digging deeper into her psyche, deeper than the used razor she sent me a picture of when she was angry. She does this when I act like I know her. 

She said she doesn’t even know herself.

      But that’s all behind locked phones. And even while my parents get angrier at how secretive I’ve become since she came along, I tell no one, she made me promise. But over time I get more anxious, stressed out, and tired. She blames herself and gets angry when I say it’s not her. She drags me further and further down this dark hallway, determined to stop and show me every desolate landmark on the way to the end. One day, she just isn’t there, not there to answer texts, not there to walk through the hallways together, not there to write notes to each other. And I’m horrified, jumping to the conclusion that she did what I’ve spent all this time keeping her from. But no, the complete opposite happened. Her parents took her to a place to help, to get her better. It’s a surprisingly horrifying time until she gets back, and I’m ecstatic when she does. But that is thrown back down when she says she needs a break from us over text. I slowly break down on the other side of the phone, and quickly agree, making it sound like a good idea, trying not to sound like a wuss. But then she gets angry again, that there’s some other girl, why else would I be happy about this? She asks for her name, she asks why I’m so happy. I take forever to decide, but it comes down to four words.  

"You wouldn't know her."

Author's Note

I wrote this pretty quickly in about half an hour, so ignore some possible Grammer mistakes. But do be critical about it, I need the tips.

Reviews

[Angel Osmond]

Your story is well written with just a few grammatical issues. I thought it flowed nicely and found it to be realistic and easy to read. I felt myself rooting for the boyfriend and that the break up saved him from the girlfriend who would had dragged him down with her into a very dark place. The boyfriend was so likable and totally wish there were guys like him at my school.