Questions
I wonder if my mother ever succumbs to the loneliness.
If men will ever learn to read a room.
When will my cousin stop posting her shaoliness .
How that couple acts out of costume,
Behind closed doors, in the bedroom.
I wonder what my friends say when I'm not there.
If humans will ever get along with each other.
When do you think cancer will find a cure?
How will it feel having to bury your big brother?
Behind his mask, what lies undercover.
I wonder if my friend's girlfriend cheated on her.
If fish and cats could breed into one.
When those friends with benefits clarified what they were.
How was my dad once his father's favourite son?
Behind that high school shooter, another handgun.
I wonder if this is all meaningless.
If we, as people, really add anything to this life.
When did other people stop seeing us?
How many people died due to laws such as pro life.
Behind every powerful man's back is a knife.
by; Tori Sheehan
WE CAN BE GIRLS TOGETHER
If Summer is promised,
I hope we can be girls together
Again - eat strawberries, play
Dance, swim, bask in the weather.
Soaking up the rays of our youth.
Maybe you'll fall in love with the guy,
We met last Friday - the party
Where I kissed your cheek,
Drunkly going to ask, are we --
But I was cut off by this boy.
Friend of a friend, foe of a foe
I couldn't fake interest till I turned -
And you - you looked so happy though.
Like you do on our beach days.
We'd splash in the cool calm water
Before coming back to our blanket -
Drinking juice boxes and, eventually a bit
Of wine, do you remember we drank it,
All before your sister realized it was stolen.
She too was a girl once, I'm sure she forgave us.
If Summer is promised,
I hope you finally see just how
I look at girls - like you.
by; Tori Sheehan
Blondie
Dyed box blonde bob
Paired with ridiculous red lips
That stain her fake designer, snog
Wannabe, should have been a sign
Id end up on my knees begging,
For forgiveness to a Blondie shrine.
She too was often on her knees
Childhood dedicated to a man,
Father, Faulty - some call God.
Begged for his approval, denied it, she ran.
Kneeling for another's man approval,
In her twenties when it all began.
Blondie spent many mornings in smoky motels.
Explaining her hatred for romantic literature
Nude next to one of her many affairs.
As they pretend to care or understand.
Unable to understand she hates the pairs
In romance and the intimacy of love.
by; Tori Sheehan
Italian Boy
My Italian boy was
Somewhat sore loser,
Who was always in-between jobs.
Loved lying, reading, and getting
Tattoos painting his body
With little to no meaning.
He'd lie and cheat,
Commit every sin known to man.
Acting above others while being incomplete.
As he was just a boy trying to be a man.
by; Tori Sheehan