Take something you’ve written in the past and rewrite it into a completely different piece.
I wrote the above poem when I was 14 years old. Looking back through my old poems and stories, I realize now what I didn't then. I was a depressed, incredibly sad, misunderstood kid. It kind of hurts to read some of these old poems. Young Vanessa was struggling so hard with her reality and had no one to talk to about it. She poured her heart and soul into her writing.
Kind of what I do now...some things come full circle....
Anyway, I decided to use this poem to recycle, rewrite, revamp, etc. Enjoy.
The little girl shivered uncontrollably. The woman watched her from the other side of the glass. She turned to one of the techs staring at the computer screens in front of him.
"Can we turn down the AC? She's freezing in there," she said.
The techs all looked at each other and shook their heads.
"She's not cold," he said. "She's laughing."
The woman turned back to look at the kid and peered at her face. She was indeed laughing quietly to herself.
"Been doing that all morning, fucking creepy," the tech said.
"I'm going in. I need answers and I won't get them standing here, watching her," the woman said, firmly. Before anyone could try and stop her, she barreled past everyone else observing the girl and into the room she was in.
The girl didn't look up when she walked in, but she did quiet her laughter. She dragged the only chair in the room until it was right in front of where the girl was sitting.
"Hi, Mariah. My name is Dr. Antonella García. I'm here to help you," the doctor said, smiling.
"Doctor, I think I'm dead already," the little girl said, pulling herself into a little ball, then rolled onto her back. She had stopped laughing completely and was now just staring straight up into the skylight.
"Why do you think that, Mariah?"
"I watched my blood...spill...red."
Dr. García squinted and began taking notes. "You were bleeding? When?"
"The angels watch from above, their eyes devoid of love," Mariah responded, snorting in laughter.
Dr. García took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes. The poor girl had been traumatized to the point of disassociation. She wasn't making any sense.
"Mariah, can you tell me what's the last thing you remember? Before you were brought here?"
The little girl scooted along the floor on her back all the way across the room until she hit the wall. She then propped herself up into a sitting position and stared directly at the doctor.
"I'm scared to think about my life," she said, quietly.
"My heart breaks, pierced with strife," she responded, closing her eyes.
The doctor made a note about the rhyming. She had a feeling that Mariah was answering her questions but in her own way. She would need to decipher it later.
"I know what happened to you and your family was awful. We are working hard to make sure it will never happen again," the doctor said, kindly.
"I can't breathe...I..I...I feel strangled." Mariah's voice getting smaller. The doctor had to lean in to hear her.
All of sudden, Mariah leapt across the room and landed haphazardly in the Dr. García's lap. She began scratching her face and pulling her hair, all while screaming, "IN THESE WEBS WHICH I AM TANGLED. IN THESE WEBS WHICH I AM TANGLED. IN THESE WEBS WHICH I AM TANGLED," until the agents busted in and pulled her off the doctor.
The doctor sat up, breathing hard. "Jesus Christ," she whispered to herself.
The director of the facility walked in, amused. "I told you that was going to be a bad idea."