Remember the good times. Promise.

My mind

brings me back

to another time:

“Where’s your spot?”

He reaches for my head and tries to 

find the place it fits perfectly into his shoulder,

he’s trying to get me through 

this crying and shaking. 

He strokes my hair and 

tells me that everything is okay,

but I know it’s not. 

I’m so stupid. 

We’re stupid. 

We’re smater than this! 

“Shhh, it’s okay alexis. Everything is okay. I’m here.” 

Shaking. 

Crying. 

“Just promise me one thing, okay?”

He takes me out from my safe spot, and makes me look directly 

into his eyes. 

Oh, god. His eyes. 

“Promise me you’ll remember the good times.

Promise me you’ll remember everything but this.” 

I promised.

by alexistexas27

http://youngwritersproject.org/node/71537

One of our most prolific writers who has really developed into an impressive story-teller and poet. I love to be able to watch that development, even if the story it tells is one of heartbreak or pain. I’m so proud of the way our community nourishes this type of writing, and even when someone is clearly emotional, he or she still takes in rational, constructive feedback and uses it moving forward. Run-of-the-mill teenage angst poetry can become something truly beautiful if given enough time and effort.

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