Was it worth it?
I ask myself
as I stand on a cliff,
watching the waters,
listening to the waves whispering my name,
telling me about about peace in an end.

I search deeply for a reason to stay.
Looking to the sky
for a sign for a better day.
Having flashbacks of battles fought,
Sacrifices made,
Bridges burnt,
Scars that won't fade,
and the pain of hope,
That all will be worth it.

I hold my heart on my palm.
Scolding myself for wearing it on my sleeve.
Contemplating crushing what's left of it.
Cause the plasters won't hold its pieces together.

Walking closer to edge of the cliff,
I let go of my heart.
The atmosphere gets colder and I shiver.
I block out the screams of people telling me I was enough.
I am enough.
No! I'm not.
For if I was,
She would be here.

So I shut my eyes and turn my back,
Taking three short steps backwards.
I find myself missing the third step,
Falling...
Falling...
Falling...
And before I hit the waters below,
I utter out my last words,
"Take care of her"
Good night..

The earth wakes us
shaking the bed.
It’s 3:21a.m.

I sit bolt upright,
the dogs growl,
you clutch my arm.
We, naked
in the dark.

To the ears of this old carpenter
the home we built is
sort of moaning
but not in a painful way
more like the way my body feels
when I stretch after
sitting too long.

After a few seconds: silence.
The planet rests.
“Want to check anything?” you ask.
“No,” I say.
So we curl together and go back to sleep:
you, me, dogs, our little house,
forest, mountain, tectonic plates.

No damage
but a reminder of
who owns this place,
payment due some day
and when it comes
I want to be with you.

I can’t write this poem
I can’t write this poem because the last time I opened up to someone artistically they told me it was pretty dark and I should keep it to myself.

I can’t write this poem
I can’t write this poem because I was raised in a culture that was anti love and pro meaningless ***. I saw endless commercials about movies that glamorize a lifestyle in which your body is fulfilled but your heart is ignored and at that impressionable age I learned my heart came second but my allure came first and the less I cared that happier I would be and I carried that belief around with me the way I used to carry around a Bible as a child.

I can’t write this poem
I can’t write this poem because of the time that I opened my father’s phone to reveal a family secret I would hold to this day against my own moral instincts unraveling miles of insecurities wondering if I’m not a good enough daughter or if he stopped loving my mother or if true love was never real and although I had been taught marriage was my purpose, it was what I believed would make me happy, maybe rings aren’t enough to stay in love and maybe people’s feelings change and maybe no one actually has a “one true love” and that this purpose I had been taught was really an endless wild goose chase that only lead to broken families and lost souls.

I can’t write this poem
I can’t write this poem because sometimes I still wonder why I fell into an abyss of toxicity at such a young age. And when I say wonder I don’t mean a trivial ponder, I mean I contemplate every possible reason why the person who I once believed held the universe in her eyes would lie to my face, why she never kissed me in public and our love was always a secret, why she valued girls with blue hair but my blonde hair was not good enough, why I had to hide bruises from my family when I was still in high school or more importantly, why at the time, I thought I deserved them. These thoughts, this lingering paranoia that I am undeserving of healthy love, they muddy my interpretations of real life and distort reality and effect my relationships. My doctor would call these intrusive thoughts, my best friend would tell me they’re symptoms of PTSD, but I have come to realize that I’ve been burned and I am damaged and I hope to god I can recover.

But you,
Oh god, you
You can write this poem. You can be my safety net while I’m free falling in love. You can be the one to listen to my mental tilt-a-whirls, you can be the one that introduces my body and my heart, you can be the one that calms the storms in my mind when I’m questioning the love I’m deserving of. You are the one who makes sure I fall asleep in my bed after drunk nights, you are the one that still sees my value after acknowledging my flaws.
You can write this poem.

I wasn't born to live such a simple life
and then die
I am not here to follow rules
and abide everyone's wishes
I am not consistent.
I must have change.
Though, you may see it as a weakness
It is definitely a strength
It has showed me many loves
I love painting,
Drawing,
Sculpting,
Writing.
I love cooking,
Sewing,
Beading,
Baking.
I love kids,
Stories,
History,
Books,
Movies
And the good lord knows, too many tv shows.
I ride the waves of change to find a beautiful new view
Life becomes mine to live
And I love it

You said that you'd be there,
to catch me when I fall;
all I felt was empty air,
you weren't there at all.

You said you'd lift me up,
whenever I was down;
your leaving was abrupt,
you didn't stick around.

You said you'd be my honey,
through the laughter and the sadness;
but what's happened isn't funny,
now I know this thing called madness.

You said "I'll always love you,"
it was just the other day;
but hell is what you put me through,
and I never had my say.

You said I was your loving lad,
and you were my bonny bride;
but love is not the thing you had,
only arrogance and pride.

You said you'd love me till the end,
but the end, it never came;
you disappeared, around the bend,
as I called, in vain, your name.

Just like your handwriting
You’re a mess
You hide yourself
By cunning words
Trying to disguise how you really feel
But that’s okay
I see right through the facade
You are the type of guy
Who sometimes cries alone
In his room
The type of guy
Who teases and messes with girls
Making them feel awful
Because it’s hard to express how you really feel
You are the type of guy
Who never shows his inner thoughts
You don’t believe anyone will understand
The chaos in your mind
But that’s okay
I see right through it
I am the type of girl
Who’s willing to put
My heart out there
However
You are the type of guy
Who never sees
A girl like me.

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too tough for him,
I say, stay in there, I'm not going
to let anybody see
you.
there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I pur whiskey on him and inhale
cigarette smoke
and the ****** and the bartenders
and the grocery clerks
never know that
he's
in there.

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too tough for him,
I say,
stay down, do you want to mess
me up?
you want to ***** up the
works?
you want to blow my book sales in
Europe?
there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too clever, I only let him out
at night sometimes
when everybody's asleep.
I say, I know that you're there,
so don't be
sad.
then I put him back,
but he's singing a little
in there, I haven't quite let him
die
and we sleep together like
that
with our
secret pact
and it's nice enough to
make a man
weep, but I don't
weep, do
you?