A Prayer for the Scar Mappedi hope you find someone who loves you for your scars.
your scars are the battles you fought
alone, scared, broken at midnight
navigating the map of your lost soul,
wearing nothing but threadbare dreams,
with demons who would not die,
and who could not rest.
and still strong, you fought on.
i pray you find someone who loves you for your scars
your scars will tell the stories your lips cannot.
your scars will reveal secrets your heart cannot.
your scars will create meaning to the little things you do.
so find someone who loves you for your scars.
this is all that I can pray for, for you
and for you,
and for you...
beautiful broken things must stick togetherbecause she is a broken pretty thing,beautiful broken things must stick together2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and he is the little boy who grew up
The Girl Who Was Afraid To BeShe speaks to me fondlyThe Girl Who Was Afraid To Be1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
of passions and talents,
of guitars and stars,
with such breathless intensity
then stops short and
for speaking at all.
All because somewhere in her life,
someone she loved broke her heart
her beautiful words
and telling her to
keep it down,
People aren’t born sad.
We make them that way.
The MonstersThe monsters were neverThe Monsters2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
under my bed.
Because the monsters
were inside my head.
I fear no monsters,
for no monsters I see.
Because all this time
the monster has been me.
Let the Fall Make You Stronger."Hey! Are you all right?"Let the Fall Make You Stronger.1 year ago in Emotional More Like This
"Sure, why wouldn't I be?"
"Um...because you just fell from the roof of the hou-"
"See, that's where you're wrong. I didn't fall. The floor challenged me and I accepted."
"And how did that go for you?"
"The floor won. But only because it had the advantage."
"Of being non sentient and vast in size, along with the fact that there is a freaking storm out!!"
"Nope. I just attacked from the wrong position."
"I overestimated my skills."
"I'll say. You're bleeding!"
"Only a little. Ask me again."
"If I'm fine."
"Is it because you're bleeding?"
"You're supposed to ask 'Why'."
"God, you're so bloody difficult!"
"But cute. Just ask."
"Because this world we live in, it gives us these dreams, you see. These great big beautiful colourful galaxies in our heads of ideas, thoughts and empathetic conclusions to our fellow humans. Our brain tells us, go on, be curious, make those mistakes.
I've ForgottenWhen she diedI've Forgotten1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
I tied a knot in my stomach
so I would remember
but I've been so busy
trying to remember her dying
I forgot how to forget.
how to let go -
and the doctors said
they would cut me open
and snip her out
a blade between the bows
and the pain, would be gone
but I've forgotten
how to let go -
and I still don't want to.
FragmentsI call them fragments, the parts of me that were too exhausted to stay. He calls them flecks because I am a flake. I wish I was a flake. It sounds prettier than being a fragment. Flakes are like snow. Soothing, falling from the sky on the tip of his tongue that melt and disappear. Fragments are archeological findings of a scarred past we really should not remember.Fragments2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I want to remember my scars. So I am a fragment.
I draw on my legs. When my skin dries out, I use my index finger as a pencil and draw what the clouds are trying to tell me. Sometimes it’s a dog, and sometimes it’s a bear and sometimes it is his face looking at me disapprovingly.
That is when I stop drawing.
At night, when the rain falls, I sit at the bay window and pretend to write stories whilst he pretends to sleep. “What are you writing?” he will ask in his asleep voice. “A funny story.” It is not. It is a pale, scary story, and it looks like my skin. “Were you dreamin
Love AgainLove AgainLove Again2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I hate to admit-
That I don't stand a chance
All risks turn into rifts-
Our hands will become too...distant
I crumbled inside every time I tried-
I couldn't look you in the eyes
A reflection was all I saw-
The beast within me whose heart was still raw
I'm afraid that trust is a one-way street with me
You can only depend on your own
For I have deemed myself unworthy
While I cling onto the tombstones of massacred hopes
I've abandoned the part of my soul
That connected to others
I was forced to let that side of me go
So never again would I fully mourn for another
A sphere of tears-
Floods my sockets with fear
Every possible future will mimic the past
I've stayed awake-
Inside the eternal moments that I've created
And my immortal regret-
Is that I don't know if I can ever fall in love...again
My Name is Hollow.Hello.My Name is Hollow.2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
My name is Hollow.
I live inside your soul.
Under the layers and layers of skin,
and tissue and muscle...
all the way down where nothing
and everything survives.
(I wish I knew before I trusted you
That lying is second nature to one
with as many regrets as you.)
My name is Hollow.
I live inside you now,
because you gave me the power
in all your virtuous belief
that the world was good
to survive your strength...
(I hoped to God you wouldn't
lie or steal or break what is already
a thousand pieces of a broken soul.)
My name is Hollow.
You let me in when sex
began to feel like an ache.
But the pain felt better than
dealing with the hurt
inside your head, your heart...
(This was always a world for those
that were harder than me
Strength is sometimes a very relative thing.)
My name is Hollow.
I am the jagged lines you draw
all along your skin,
your muscles, your bones...
The sharp edge of a knife,
the scarlet drops of remorse.
(Here's a question now for your
it's no longer worth a thousand wordsi took down the pictures; every lastit's no longer worth a thousand words8 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
they reminded me too much of the
shapes of my eyes three years
ago, and the way your shoulders
slumped in defeat when you realized the flash was on,
they reminded me of the books
stacked in towers around our heads, tilting
softly in summer sunlight
drifting through hazy shades of dust, left to pile into
mountains by morning from curious
fingers and a night owl's
they reminded me of yesterday
and ten yesterdays ago and how
they would never happen again. how even though
we smiled freeze-frame, it never lasted.
everyone wants to think they will
keep themselves forever, and seeing perfect pictures of pretty lives
lost years ago
made me realize: nothing is.
that was the hardest part.
so i took down the pictures, every last
and sent them
down to ashes in a
shoebox that didn't burn as
easily as i'd thought it would.
i would love to say i'm sorry, but -
they told me no one could love a girl with scars.i told them that i could love myself.they told me no one could love a girl with scars.10 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
Broken Sleep, Red LipstickI am only an insomniac when it rains. The pitter patter of the raindrops reminds me of the pitter patter of cat paws.Broken Sleep, Red Lipstick2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
(He liked to sleep at my feet when I could barely think, just to make me feel better. I think you used to tell him to.)
I wish I could wrap your memories around my spine and wear them as a backbone, because they are stronger than the arch my broken spined back seems to have developed of late.
(Spines are oddly brittle, and a lot like wrists. Easy to break and forever to heal.)
But I cannot depend of any of that anymore. So I wear red lipstick and high heels and go to parties and tell strangers how amazing they are to be wearing red lipstick and high heels and how different they must be to come to this party instead of the other one.
(All because you would hate parties and think nightlife is so stupid.)
It is what I do with my insomnia. Because my spineless back, the memories of you incessantly looped in my sleeplessly addled brain and the raindrops
Wistful"I am the boy who wants to loveWistful2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
your misshapen words,
your broken hearted pieces,
your ink split fingers.
I am the boy who wants to kiss
those scar tattooed arms,
that tear stained face
mend what has been broken.
I am the boy who can
make your heart
sing poetry again."
If only he would say it
like he had
Austenesque Therapy“Hello.”Austenesque Therapy2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
“Good afternoon. Why have you come to see me today?”
“Because I had to.”
“I see. So tell me... what’s bothering you.”
“I lose my breath because I can’t believe that this is all I am going to be.”
“What is wrong with what you are?”
“I’m not loved.”
“You have your friends, your family-”
“Come on, you know what I mean. The devil-may-care-what-the-world-thinks, passionate, can’t-breathe-without-each-other, catch-you-when-you-fall-kind-of-love.”
“I don’t even know how to begin to find it in this world.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean I prefer living in my books. I like how that makes me feel. And then I’m just disappointed.”
“And how does that make you feel?”
“It makes me feel sometimes, like I am completely unreasonable to say, that in a time of smart phones
to the boy who doesn't plan on leavinghow much of me can you swallow, loveto the boy who doesn't plan on leaving1 year ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
before you finally purge?
I am a cartographer of bad
experiences; I can locate
precisely where I see our divergence
extraordinaire and I can tell you
before I have even met you
that the skin on my hands is too
dry for the softness you plan
on caressing me with.
let me tell you how this ends;
I will show you all the people
I have destroyed - flooded
to the best of my ignorance,
driven wild with jealousy,
had whipped with lust and left
smoking pot after four
promises stating otherwise.
let me tell you how this ends;
after showing you the blessed
catastrophe it is to be human,
you will destroy me. you may not mean much
but god, my heart
will make sure
I never miss people who leave.
I miss the ones I walk away from
with guilt tainting my forlorn
how much of me will you swallow
before you finally purge, love?
a girl once called me her home
until she saw just how much
bigger I am on the inside
and it took her
a day and some minutes
Being Okay Is The Hardest Thing We DoBeing Okay Is The Hardest Thing We DoBeing Okay Is The Hardest Thing We Do1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
because being okay is expected,
if we’re not okay, that’s not okay,
what can we do to be okay?
we can scribble illegible words
on a canvas made for by painters
masquerading as notebook paper,
and hope that we can sell the burn
of stinging emotions for some paper.
but the funny thing about that thought?
is that american money isn’t paper,
it’s 75% cotton and 25% linen fibers.
so even the money you'd earn from your misery,
isn't anything you can write on
when you realize your money isn't
made to heal. even if it does talk.
but it never really ever says enough, does it?
But that's okay...
being okay is the hardest thing we do
because sticks and stones do break bones,
but you can hide the scars
with a jacket or longer sweatshirt.
or put on pants as opposed to athletic shorts.
words kill, words heal, and words are so much more.
and you can't hide the scars that riddle your face,
the way your
Alone With ImpulsesI stare at the clock,Alone With Impulses1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
Willing myself to feel tired.
It doesn’t work.
I take a sleep aid.
It doesn't work either.
Sitting here alone,
I drown the quiet with music.
I know I have to keep it together.
That doesn't send the depression running though.
Every moment ticks by
With infinite slowness.
My mind presents impulses.
Mild ones first-
Like a snack.
Ever so stealthily,
More psychotic impulses surface.
I know I can’t-
I just feel frightened by my own mind,
And ever so alone.
Cement HeartI built a wallCement Heart1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
around my heart,
I'd never let you in
but the more time that
I spend with you,
allows the beats
A Little Bit of WonderlandHer name was Alyssa, and when she was nine, her mother built her Wonderland. After being raised on a healthy diet of Charles Dickens, Enid Blyton and J.M. Barrie, it seemed like the natural course of action. She created it out of paper, each scene indispensably, indisputably perfect in its imperfection.A Little Bit of Wonderland2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
And she did it because Alyssa was terrified of the idea of falling through a rabbit hole, into a place that allows magic only when you are confused. Mothers do the most impractical, exhausting things to show how much they love their children. It seemed a pity that it was this very effort that kept Alyssa up all night, staring at the paper people like they were coming to get her.
(If Alyssa’s mother knew, she would have spent all her time trying to explain to the little girl that it wasn’t just paper people she should be afraid of.)
God appeared to have a sense of humour when little Alice became Alyssa’s best friend. She lives across the street, her hair always
Wait For MeWho said it would be easyWait For Me1 year ago in Songs & Lyrics More Like This
Who said it wouldn't be hard
Who said it would be simple
Who said it wouldn't leave scars
What I've got to give you is less than you deserve
But would it make a difference if I promised you the world
Who said it won't be painful
Who said it wouldn't break
Who said it would be perfect
Who said it's a mistake
Words can only say so much before it's hard to breathe
But would you understand me if I said you're all I need
Looking from the outside in
Some things never change
Looking from the inside out
Some things stay the same
I don't know what will happen
When or why or how
I can't see the future
But I can be there for you now
I can't tell you where to go
Because that's up to you
I don't know the road ahead
I can't pretend I do
It's hard for me to say it
And it's harder to believe
But I'll be there beside you
If you will wait for me
...Will you wait for me?
you have seven days to live.1.the news doesn't hurt:you have seven days to live.1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
it's his eyes that hurt you,
the glimmer of his past
creeping in just like
his father used to creep in
at three a.m.
with a sin on his mind
and rage on his hands.
he waits for you to react,
but you don't
because he's suddenly seven again,
while mommy cries
in a ball on the couch.
2.you think time
is a funny thing.
people talk about it
like it is an object:
"I need more time," they say,
like they will go to the store later
and buy more.
but you know that time
is more like an ocean wave,
with an endless
pounding that continues
long after we greet the dirt,
and we want more time,
but time doesn't want us.
3.he tries to force you
into his wrists,
his ankles, his collarbone.
he thinks that if he
loves you enough,
he can save you.
you know that he can't,
so you cut through him
night after night,
searching for an exit.
4.sometimes death scares you.
you remind yourself that
no matter how much you want
overflowI tried to show you all the broken bones in the cupboard,overflow1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
the cobwebs beneath the staircase;
all the schisms, and chasms,
and chinks in my a(r)mour
but your finger touched my lips
in a curious sort of way, and you said
hush, darling, don't say a word
none of that matters anymore
so I tried to shut away the ghosts
but now they're out and about
and coming for me
and I have no hope of escaping
with my heart so chipped and faded.
The Girl He LovesThe girl he loves is midnight, like the blue of the sea cradled by the moonlight.The Girl He Loves2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
The girl he loves is verdant, the very green of the hill kissed by the summer delight.
The girl he loves is coral, as pink as the roses that grow in his mother's garden.
The girl he loves is crimson, red like the autumn leaves that lay abandoned.
The girl he loves I can never be
Because he's allergic to violets,
And violets are too much like me.
I saw thatI saw that.I saw that1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
The way the words
stuck in the back of your throat like glue.
The way you held your tongue
for fear of ridicule if you spoke up for yourself.
The way the syllables gushed from their mouths,
a torrent of excuses,
when they did you wrong
because you didn't make your own case
and you should have been more forceful.
I saw that.
And I've been there, I've lived it.
I know it's hard to let their criticism
roll off your back when
they've already knocked you
flat on your face.
But I saw that.
And I won't let you fight it alone.