This journal,
Like a home,
Four years
in the womb.
I despise
What you hold
But I'm glad
You took it
from my hands.

I'm just sitting here
Awaiting time to pass me by
Still trying to decide
Wether to sleep or cry
Listening to another's tale of love
Brings me familiarity
Of memories best not thought of
Of a time I was a little more happy
Oh, but here we are
I, your poet
And you, my dear readers
And as you may gaze upon my words
I'm not but swift passing
The emotions they chain to me
Will eat me alive with every moment passing

Every time I look in the mirror
I see burns
all over my body
I see them on my stomach,
neck
in the crease of my thighs
everyone is blind to these scars
for they have sunk into my psych
There's no proof
of how bad you destroyed me
and here I am
burning someone else

to cope

hers were eyes
that teased the sun
from its slumber,
that made a mockery
of half-moon

I dread going to sleep
Because falling asleep
Means waking up in the morning
And going on with my life
I have no control over

You stare blankly at the ceiling
Unwilling to rise
Everyone has abandoned you
No respite from the silence
Your heart in shards
Like the vase you dropped
Last autumn
—some things shatter—


A buzz emits from beside you
Messages of a different variety
You have been abandoned by all, but one
Hello, you have not forsaken me
The shards of heart, mend
Form a kintsugi heart
Love flowers in the cracks
—some things bloom—

@toopragmaticbookworm