All Nonfiction
- Bullying
- Books
- Academic
- Author Interviews
- Celebrity interviews
- College Articles
- College Essays
- Educator of the Year
- Heroes
- Interviews
- Memoir
- Personal Experience
- Sports
- Travel & Culture
All Opinions
- Bullying
- Current Events / Politics
- Discrimination
- Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking
- Entertainment / Celebrities
- Environment
- Love / Relationships
- Movies / Music / TV
- Pop Culture / Trends
- School / College
- Social Issues / Civics
- Spirituality / Religion
- Sports / Hobbies
All Hot Topics
- Bullying
- Community Service
- Environment
- Health
- Letters to the Editor
- Pride & Prejudice
- What Matters
- Back
Summer Guide
- Program Links
- Program Reviews
- Back
College Guide
- College Links
- College Reviews
- College Essays
- College Articles
- Back
Used
They wring you out, a washcloth
Laden with the stuff of jokes and jests,
And you watch each drop,
Each crystalline sphere of water,
Each witticism,
Slowly slide through your threadbare folds
Jabbing cruelly at your esteem.
But a washcloth is only a flat, drab expanse
Of gray
Which possesses no self-respect,
And when you are dry
When no more water wets the chortling maws
Of the thirsty beasts of popularity which they seek
To appease,
They cast you away
And you flap mournfully through the humid air
Splashing into a puddle of murky water on
The bathroom floor.
Moisture seeps slowly into your threads,
Your veins,
And your self-esteem raises its haggard head hopefully,
Languishing timidly in the brief respite before they come again.
----
They cast you into the air
Hazy with delicate, curling clouds of blood
And you flap your wings in terror
Screams of wounded men piercing your heart.
Frantically you race over clamoring enemy ranks
Bullets clipping your feathers
Deafening booms of artillery assailing
Your already erratic, feverish heartbeat.
When at last you descend among
Rifle-wielding soldiers
Who remove the precious message you have flown
Over war-torn plains,
The adrenaline pools at your feet, mixing with the blood
Streaming in rivulets down your body.
You are exhausted
Fatigue clawing at the edges of your consciousness
But once more into the air you are cast
Once more you travel over fields tainted with Death
Squawking your anguish to the blood-speckled clouds.
You are a lonely war pigeon bearing the bloody badge
Of America
A weary runner chained to the sweat-flooded red track
Who is clothed in the vibrant but sinister logos of pompous companies
Who is tethered and leashed to the uncompassionate, raucous crowds
A tool for war
A tool for pleasure
Always a tool.
A bullet punches through your tattered feathers,
Caresses your terrified heart,
And you silently plummet to the ground
Contorted and lifeless,
Death finally blessing your fear-painted plumage.
They are oblivious to your passing
For you were but a pigeon
An instrument to serve humanity that is
Easily replaced.
----
They are friends.
A word that is bitter
With betrayal.
Similar Articles
JOIN THE DISCUSSION
This article has 0 comments.
For those who have felt the sting of being backstabbed by their closest companions.