Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Hard to love
—harder to know

(Dreamsleep: January, 2022)
 Feb 2020 Grand Piano
feb 1
 Feb 2020 Grand Piano
I was not myself for weeks
yet nobody noticed.
 Mar 2018 Grand Piano
emi munroe
"I'm laughing, I'm crying
It feels like I'm dying"

All the times
I sit at the edge of my table
Thinking I'll be able
To break my face on it
My cute prepared outfit
White turned red
Like they said
I should just die
No one would show up to my party of tears
Three cheers for broken hearts
a melanie martinez inspired poem
Pity Party - Melanie Martinez
My father walked me down the aisle,
But my mother held my arm.
He went with me,
But we went not towards the altar,
But towards the door.

My father walked me down the aisle,
And the ***** rang through the church,
Humming through the elaborate crown molding,
Carved by my ancestors.

He went,
Not beside me,
But before me,
And I watched,
As he was illuminated by the bright,
Texas sun.

My father walked me down the aisle,
But I did not wear white.
My father walked me in silence,
And I shed tears not for a man standing at the altar,
But for the one I would never see again.

My father walked me down the aisle,
And no veil obscured my face.
All eyes were upon me, but not for my pristine beauty,
Instead for my clenched jaw and furrowed brow,
Severe and fierce to distract from my glassy eyes.

My father did not leave me at the end of our walk to sit beside my mother.
She clung to me for support and sobbed breathlessly,
And I carried her with one hand,
My sister the other,
And walked towards my future.
A future family,
Not one person more,
But one person less.
I walked,
One final time,
With him.

My father walked me down the aisle,
And I will never forget it.
Hundreds of eyes isolating my family from the crowd,
Slow and muffled sounds drowning in the deafening beat of my heart,
Blurred faces staring,
Black heels clacking against the cobbled path from the church,
The anguished wails of my mother,
The whimpering of my sister,
And the wooden box that glided before us,
A string tied to our patriarch,
The pin key of our family,
Pulled taut and then snipped with the slam of the hearse doors.

My father walked me down the aisle,
Before I had a chance to grow up.
He walked me,
Out of the church,
Away from the altar,
Never to be walked again.
the shattered remains of consequence
are glued together
like pieces of a broken plate
to be used again
hopefully unnoticed
are the lines
the scars
that run deep
 Mar 2018 Grand Piano
there are days where I sit and stare at myself in the mirror
picking apart every little flaw, every extra roll and
every bit that's not the right shape or colour
and I think, almost religiously,
that I am not good enough for you.

Becuase the truth is that I'm not.

You deserve sunshine and flowers on a summers day,
not a work in progress as dull as a winters night.

I say this to you and you pull your lips together with a sad smile,
look down at me
"But what if I prefer winter"

My boy that is not the point.
All I do is make you worry and I wanna be your sunshine but I just don't


I'm a work in progress.
I was shattered just before we met and putting the pieces together

And the things we don't talk about
things we shelve for a conversation in the

involves things that only
"I love you"
might be able to fix.

through everything
recovery is hard
and each and every day is a choice
I need to make
to be better
I'm not always strong enough to make that choice.

I just want you to understand
my boy
my lovely amazing

that sometimes I don't eat
and sometimes I want to die more than not
that anxiety is a being that rocks me
and sometimes I need the rush of pain
from scrubbing hard at my skin
or dragging a blade across it

it's not about you.
it's not something your presence is going to necessarily fix

But i want to try for you.
Maybe i can't be your sunshine
but maybe
i can be your cup of tea
your jumper
your girl
wrapped up in your bed sheets
on a cold winters night

you once said you had no problem
helping me pick up my messes
and if you stand by that

ill be your girl.
In whatever season you want me.
I am not angry with the day
though I gaze the skies with such disdain
I cannot outrun the light
so in the interim I wait idly by
or hide in shadows

so strong and constant
is the Sun
reminder of my weakness burns
I greet the darkness in it's absence
it holds no truth
no strength
only the means to cower

I will ride the ***** of night
until I fall into my dreams
where thoughts are kind and colors play
it is here I escape
the wrath of day
revised oldie - still not satisfied
Next page