Playground

Poetry

dark misty tree lg

My body rots in the warm sun. It pierces my skull like a thousand tiny blades cutting with perfect precision to make each jab hurt worse than the last. This, my brightened surroundings, are rays beating down onto my scorched flesh, laughing at my inability to coexist in its presence. It taunts me, reminding me that I don’t belong. But I know my place. My soul lives among the shadows, dances with the moon, and twinkles with the stars in the night sky. This, where my demons live and thrive, is my prison. This, my world of darkness, is my salvation. This, where anything is possible, is my redemption. This is my playground.

© Sarah Doughty
Photo and edit are mine.

43 thoughts on “Playground”

  1. in the real world; some students think i was a freak because i was the only one who believe in those fairytale things, but i was covering in blood (like carrie white) and showed my revenge to them so they could died (and they did). hyde enjoyed what i did and said “isn’t this fun, is like a favorite playground of mine and yours”.

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    1. Lazy isn’t really a word I would use in writing. Sometimes you’ll feel the words itching to crawl out. That’s when things line this are born. Other times is more of a feeling of emotions. But that’s not lazy.

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      1. It’s a word I use for me in writing. For the times when I could dig deeper and make the writing better, but instead I just write the generic version and move on.
        When I read poetry (like this) it inspires me to think more about how and why I’m using the words I’m using.
        There’s a reason writing a short story is harder than a novel. I feel like it’s even more so with poetry.
        Much love for the poets ❤

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    1. Thank you. It’s a strange juxtaposition. I’m terrified of the night because of what happened to me when I was a kid, yet at the same time, I still have a fondness for it (safely inside my home, of course).

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