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Elizabeth Zenk Aug 2018
Was all the agony worth this splash of interaction we get?
The lonely?
The anger?
The sadness?
Was it worth it?
The hours my eyes stared at a ticking clock whilst waiting for you too show up?
The terrible misery that burns in my fists?
Was it worth it?
I’ve waited a year just to see your face, and this is what I get?
Conflicting emotions that battle for hours?
Is it wrong that I’m mad at you?
Wrong that you wasted everything I have?
You still care about her more than you care about me?
Was it worth it?

It was worth it.
Elizabeth Zenk Sep 2018
The boiling, bubbling, fizzling rage
That has learned to hold me tight
My face tingles with the feeling of ignominy.
I’m embarrassed I’m still attached to you.
From person to person you can’t look away.
Your eyes wander astray.
And as I catch you forgetting, my hands begin to shake.  
If you missed me you wouldn’t forget me.
I’d know because of the way the grass blows, howling in horror.
Yearning for you,
to love me.
But you can’t teach a rabbit to be loyal, that is just what you are.
From girl to girl shifting personalities.
Becoming what they want the most, but little do you know.
Little do you know.
All I want
is for you
to love me
"He's gone.
You need to get over him, dear.
I know."
I mumble to myself
Elizabeth Zenk Dec 2018
the pouring of acid into my skull,
the song of searing sadness
burns in a boastful boisterous blaze.
lonely leeches lavish my love
removing roses and riches,
and turning treasures into terror.
echoing emptiness etches erratic thoughts
and cremates the cool calmness.
wander, worthless worms
and dare to drift into a daunting dream.
all alone.
Elizabeth Zenk Sep 2018
Walking a tightrope
Teetering on the edge of a breakdown
I never asked to be an acrobat,
I never asked to juggle my fragmented feelings
I guess my hormone inflicted brain had other ideas.
Ideas that would send me falling without a safetynet.
I never asked to be an acrobat.

Elizabeth Zenk Jun 2018
Constellations of broken hearts fill the sky in my head,
Twisting my words, and shaking my morals like an imploding star.
The only place my heart is healed is in the memories of you dressed in red.
Once, you remove me from your life you open up my scars
The scars you left from that constant neglect, and in darkness I was led.
Then you move away leaving my soul wanting you from afar.
Elizabeth Zenk Jun 2018
What should I do after the typhoon of reality crashes over me?
Ask hopeless questions like I always do like?
Why does the broken mirror still reflect that **** girl?
When will the sea of mistrust dry up?
When will the sun set it’s last on islands of doubt?
Why are personal secrets so accessible?
Why am I able to buy secrets like they no more than items belonging to lonely merchants.
Why are we told to cover wounds caused by harpoon that were fashioned by horrific memories?
Why must we be forced to sit in the cavern silence?
Why is the lullaby of a hurricane more forgiving than a false apology?
Do I need an interpreter to spell out what you’ve done wrong?
Now I dare you to tell me it wasn’t your fault.

All of this.

The ringing of those words still pierce these walls.
Would you believe it if I said we all remember, even when alcohol blurs your memory of what you did?
When these terrible flashbacks refuse to fade will you still tell me it isn’t your fault?
The wail of a shattered life is louder than your sickening lies.
Now, tell me it’s not your fault.

All of this.

The tension in the air still lingers four years later.
You have been exposed for what you’ve always been.
Now, stop trying to control us.
Like an albatross flying over a raging sea, I raise a white flag.
I've lost again.
We'll gladly pack up and leave.
Now, try and tell me as you sit alone not regretting a thing,
Now, tell me it’s not your fault.

All of this.
December 25, 2014
It started
All of this.
Elizabeth Zenk Jul 2018
The distant thrumming of rhymic ticking is a sound I used to hold very dear.
For it washed away the sound of squeals and squawks of arguing parents.
The taps
The tocks
of an old analog clock
washing my worried life to sleep.
Elizabeth Zenk Oct 2018
Our lives are like boats.
Everyone is crafted differently.
You can be built perfectly.
Have everything be in check.
And still be weighed down by anchors nobody can see.
Nobody can see you
Elizabeth Zenk Jul 2018
digging my nails into my skin
raking them down my face
covering my ears
taking deep breaths
all because of anger and fear.
Elizabeth Zenk Jun 2018
Once were two young maidens who both wore smiles,
but they were sadly separated.
Years later they became friends once again, but life had shaped their names.
Anxiety and Trauma both very much alike.
Anxiety bit her nails and Trauma did as well.
Trauma rocked back and forth, and Anxiety did too.
Over time they both dropped subtle hints saying they were not okay.
Anxiety went to therapy, and so did Trauma.
Trauma had a breakdown, Anxiety also did.
The difference lays within their fears.

"I'm so very terrified of the future..." Anxiety began, "You get it though, right?"

Trauma shrugged, "I guess I do," she paused, "but it's the past that makes me break."

The two girls looked at each other, realizing they knew nothing about one another.
In regards to my friend who is so similar to me, but with such a different past, and future.
Elizabeth Zenk Jun 2018
I return a year later, but without all of my friends.
Without you.
Wondering if you'll return.
As if it wasn't bad enough
I'm forced to look at that gloomy, lonesome, tatterdemalion bench we all used to sit and talk at.
I'm forced to hear your name, but none of my new friends know who you are.
I'm forced to see all of my old friend's faces in different places.
As if it wasn't bad enough
I have to hear your brother talk about us.
I have to see your face, not knowing if we'd ever talk to one another again.
I have to watch you walk away, your glasses reflecting the sunlight, without even saying a word to you.
As if it wasn't bad enough!
I have to hear people talking about you in conjunction with other girls.
I have to not be able to remove these pestering thoughts about you.
I have to suffer through these hellish flashbacks of everything without saying a single word.
This is bad enough, isn't it?
Maybe, it will be worth it if I get to see you again.
I miss you.
I'm just too scared to make any move what so ever.
So if you're reading this. You've gotta say something because I won't.
( P.S.: "so loud" is about the same topic )
Elizabeth Zenk Jun 2018
An asymmetrical girl stares back at me.
Long face.
Uneven jaw.
Large chin.
Small mouth.
Large nose.
Uneven eyebrows.
Sunken, tired eyes.

Why does she even get up in the morning?

An annoying thing stares back at me.
Mumbled voice.
Unfunny jokes.
Tries too hard.

Why does she even get up in the morning?

A worthless creature stares back at me.

Why­ do I get up in the morning?
I stare back at me.
Not good enough.
bad habits
the normalization of disfiguring one’s self
a daily roadblock.
a bountiful collection of poor decisions
that i’ve lined up upon my wrist.
a bile curdling hatred of my fading wounds,
they are the only ones that stay.
bad habits
they are the only ones that stay
Elizabeth Zenk Oct 2018
my finest mirror      
so   that
   maybe   my  
will look
more      normal  .
beautiful yet
: )
am i beautiful yet?
Elizabeth Zenk Jun 2018
Your sweet quiet voice makes my face shift hues.
Almost everything you speak is tasteful.
The ideas of you turn my salty tears into sweet honey, but
honey wouldn't be the right thing to describe my feelings, would it?
Because honey doesn't rot.
It doesn't become bitter.
You are honey.
Sweet and kind and everything I'm not.
I am dark chocolate.
Bitter and jealous and sad.
We go together in theory, but more people enjoy sweet than bitter.
You know you can do better than bitter.
They say dark chocolate makes you happy which is funny because
I'm not happy.
Elizabeth Zenk Jul 2018
The clearest, bluest, most crystal clear sky can ruin a beautiful picture.
Elizabeth Zenk Sep 2018
The taste of dread fills my mouth,
my teeth grind against one another.
I do not want to go back,
there is nothing for me there.
A putrescent bench,
a broken chair,
and unachievable memories.
I will never top what I can recall,
but that's alright.
The bitter feelings are beginning to subside.
The broken bench grew fruit of grand flavor that I picked and savored.
The bench may now grow pleasant memories for others to enjoy.
This was supposed to be posted earlier August.
Elizabeth Zenk Jul 2018
The brumous thoughts swarm my head
My steel blue irises becoming foggy and glassy
I walk through these hallways having forgetful conversations.
The only way to see past this early morning brume is to not see at all.
So I'll gouge out my eyes and walk these hallways no more.
For all, I know the fog will have cleared up.
the fog will have cleared up.
Elizabeth Zenk Oct 2018
Oh, how I miss the sweet burdens of love
that used to hold me hostage.
I wish I could feel my racing heart,
my rising shame,
and terrific jealousy.
I long for the way my face would go red,
and miss the time I had a reason to get out of bed.
I wish I could find one person to love
and for them to love me back.
Elizabeth Zenk Dec 2018
chastisement towards myself
for every time i falter or stutter,
for every time i can’t control
my cauldron of sizzling insanity.
i reprimand everything i ***** up
everything that do.
rebuke fills my body
whenever i wake up,
whenever i continue my worthless existence.
whenever i continue live
Elizabeth Zenk Sep 2018
And as the dust started to settle, she looked around.
The ashes drifting through the air, only making her scorched surrounding more grim.
The cinder danced in the air.
Fluttering to the ground with grace.
It was hard to imagine that a furious fire had done this.
Somehow she knew that the flame would never truly be quenched.
This would never truly be over.
The burning coals exhale hot breaths onto her feet.
Whispering what was yet to come.
The burning ashes smiled knowing
they still had time
to burn her alive.
Elizabeth Zenk Dec 2018
the shorter the poem,
the clearer my mind
Elizabeth Zenk Dec 2018
Asphalt memories and concrete cries.
These cracks of life, formulate most of my thoughts during these bland journeys.
The most interest in these cobblestone pathways lies in the occasional determined dandelion or **** that manages to pop up through the stone.
The mundane life of such a plant never fails to amuse me.
Despite all the efforts, all the work, these ragged stocks of green persevere, but as soon as they thrive, they perish.
Turning into no more than a sickly brown line on the pavement below.
    The weeds aren’t what brings me down these roads, however.
My life manages to be even more interestless, and boring.
I wander back and forth this path, every single day, wearing away the cement that brings me to these stainless steel buildings.

However, I’ve reconciled with the crisp morning strolls, for the night is much less forgiving.

    Sometimes the streetlights bend, twist, wind, and twine with the tears that form in my gaze.
The streaks of sorrow that trail down my face as I leave to go home for the day.
Macabre figures dance in the background of my distorted vision, chasing me down in the dark.
I wonder whether or not this is my imprisoned imagination, lashing out at me.
Starting a war I never asked for.
The thing that is brave enough to bring me an ounce of sanity is the waxing moon,
rising up from its shadowy imprisonment.
I wish I could be the moon
Elizabeth Zenk Sep 2018
I’m confused.
Confused about how I feel about you.
I can’t remove my smile when you text.
I can’t help but blush when they make jokes.
I’m confused.
I’m not sure how I feel.
with a lead bullet dancing in my head
i’ll send the petals flying
onto the tombstone where which i lay
with shriveled lilacs dying.

dormant my figure shall wait
under the snows of winter’s rage
beneath the dirt i lay.

i will turn from flesh and bone into
daffodils and daisies.
the amelioration of my corpse will be left forgotten.

down here within my coffin
i will be left
my flowers shall bloom
and my body will be no more than petals plucked by a lovesick fool
Elizabeth Zenk Aug 2018
They say the wisest men speak the fewest words,
and I know this is true because of the way I blabber on.
About trivial things.
Like a corpse lily, I bloom.
Spewing vile scents into the crisp clear surroundings.
And with that stench comes the carrion fly ready to eat up my stupidity.
To find someone so disgusting is rare.
Elizabeth Zenk Aug 2018
Four halves
No wholes
One father
No dad
Two wrong moves
Three wrongs ones
Five broken lives
painting pictures
of grief on
different canvases.
Elizabeth Zenk Aug 2018
Cracked mug leaking tea onto papers
Mixing with ink,
Turning the vanilla pages into a grey mesh of color.
Each word turning into a fuzzy mess.
Sweeping up the pages with damp hands.

Cracked eyes leaking saddened raindrops
Mixing with anger
Turning the vanilla desk into a confusing prison.
Each chip in the paint becoming a ***** in the concrete cell.
Sweeping up the pages with damp hands.

Cracked wrists leaking crimson sorrow
Mixing with tears
Turning the vanilla skin into a watercolor portrait.
Each slice morphing into brushstrokes.
Sweeping up the pages with damp hands.

Elizabeth Zenk Nov 2018
In the dark lay creatures.
They are neither good nor bad.
They lie dormant for day, weeks, months, years just watching.
And that is how they will stay unless you dare to close your eyes.

They’ll drag you away,
gut you,
and hang your remains to dry.
They will gouge your eyes,
smash your skull,
and break your bones.
They get intoxicated by your screams of agony,
high off your pain,
and drunk on your anguish

In the dark lay creatures.
They are neither good nor bad.

Their name?
Elizabeth Zenk Sep 2018
It's been a while since I've cried like that.
Gasping for breath.
No thoughts.
Aching head.
Very loud.
Falling asleep.
It's almost calming in an unusual way.
It's been a while since I've cried like that.
Elizabeth Zenk Jul 2018
A tightness in my lungs pulls me under in a spell of forced muteness.
I slide my view up out of the rattling car.
The starry sky lighting up my irises and dazzling my brain.
Meanwhile the glops of tears forming in my eye drag the streetlights across my visible world.
Light torn away from its source
for only me.
Me, a crying passenger.
Elizabeth Zenk Jun 2018
I take dainty steps
because I know
maybe then I won't
regret the
quake I make
during the iota
of time I occupy.
My ripples of meaning
will level out when
I am gone.
Elizabeth Zenk Jun 2018
Dear Google,
Why do I chew up popsicle sticks?
Why do I rock back and forth?
Why does my head twitch sometimes?
Why won't my ears stop ringing?
Dear Google,
What's wrong with me?
Why am I so moody?
Why can't I forget what happened?
Why can't I tell anyone?
Dear Google,
Why do I pace my driveway and talk to myself?
And why do I talk to people who aren't there with me?
Why did the evergreens seem to twist and distort when I stared at them with empty eyes?
Why did I collapse and cry?
Dear Google,
Why haven't I run away yet?
Why am I not free yet?
Why do I allow myself to be trapped here?
Why hasn't she left?
Dear Google,
Why is there more than one 'version' of me?
Why do I talk as these versions?
Why do they all have different voices and personalities?
Why are they so mean?
Dear Google,
Why do I even try?
Why am I still alive?
Why don't I just end it all?
Not trying to be an attention *****, so I'm sorry if that's how I came off.
It's kind of another vent and just a little nod to all the people googling questions that Google can't answer.
Elizabeth Zenk May 2018
Hourglass of life
No matter how fast you run
You'll always get caught
I hear the sand hitting the glass below me.
I can't see how much more sand I have left.
Elizabeth Zenk Jul 2018
i'm under general anesthesia
temporary coma knocks me asleep
i fear i will suffer from amnesia
instead, i manage to find something deep

death is a coma you never wake from
forever is a few seconds at best
you just have to live until you are numb
so we should except our eternal rest

i am neither scared nor content with death
for nothing truly matters in the end
running, running until i'm out of breath
running, running and through life, i descend

once i stop running i know it's too late
well, at least i know to cooperate
Elizabeth Zenk Jul 2018
Wistful tears melt down my cheeks.
Nostalgic of our time together.
I kept myself together for a year, and now without the pitiful distractions, I have to look at myself, alone.
Debilitating heartache
Making me bleak.
Pining to both relive and forget the past.
Everything is still so crystal clear.
The smells, the sights, the feelings.
How could I have let it slip away from me like that?
Did he ever speak of me?
Ever talk about me?
Or did he just forget the joyous days we spent together?
Am I the only one homesick for not my house, but for a person?
My lip twitches as sentimental recollections start to overflow and spill, creating a puddle of emptiness, longing, and heartbreak.
Watching the clock tick down seconds I've wasted
waiting for you.
Elizabeth Zenk Jul 2018
I just get
really sad and
unmotivated for
or months.
You just never
seemed to notice,
so I kept quiet
thinking you
just didn’t
a bombshell I’m too worried to drop.
Elizabeth Zenk Nov 2018
out of all the beautiful, vibrant, vivid colors
i am a bland, dull, uninspired hue
between the words in a book,
withered, dehydration grass,
or the color of a summer hare.
however, i’ve been told that i was once creative,
rain twisted oil spilled on cement,
poppies in a mid-afternoon sun,
or the tone of a summer goldfinch.
i wonder if it was the sun’s rays that desaturated my existence
i am the product of years worth of desaturation.
Elizabeth Zenk Jul 2018
Soft, lush green grass twirls beneath my feet.
Pale purple and white flowers speckle that spot.
I lay down in the bed of idyllic petals and grass.
I watch the pearly, cirrus clouds whirl in the atmosphere.
More than an hour frolicks away from my grasp as my gaze drifts across the dazzling sky.
I ease my own worries in that patch of beautiful, rich vegetation.
I rise up and begin to head home with a clear mind and better understanding of the world.
I pluck a singular blossom and twist it between my fingers as I head back to my bleak home still cherishing my serendipitous self-discoveries.
I place that flower in a book with the intent of saving it forever.
Elizabeth Zenk Oct 2018
her body was a prison, she could not escape from.
a life sentence of hideousness.
each mark on her body perpetuating her to
spin and whirl
and dizzier and dizzier and dizzier she got.
even though she was sickened by this feeling,
at least she couldn't focus on the all things she hated about herself.
at least nausea distracted her from her hideous face.
Elizabeth Zenk Jul 2018
Stay quiet so he doesn’t know you’re here.
Be quiet so you disappear.
Take light steps.
Don’t step there!
If you stay quiet enough you can hear it all, but only if you dare.
The squeaks,
The whispers,
The words.
Everything will become clear if you just choose to not make a sound.
Pinning my hand against my mouth in a violent last defensive.
I promised I wouldn’t speak again.
If you’re quiet enough you can hear their breathing
If you’re quiet enough you can tell they’re watching.
Elizabeth Zenk Jul 2018
don’t cry.
don’t cry.
don’t cry.
don’t cry.
don’t cry.
Elizabeth Zenk Jun 2018
A knot forms in my stomach, creating strings of anxious.
I try so hard to ***** up this feeling, but the only thing I manage to puke up is my dignity and pride.
So I'm on my knees before my toilet
a shallow husk of someone who has departed with all confidence, and replaced it with tangled up dread.
Replaced it with a passion for never leaving my house.
Dread, locking me in place.
Get it? Dreadlocks?
Elizabeth Zenk Oct 2018
Death is

You knew
I wrote this as my heart screamed in pain.
I found this poem from months ago while looking for the truth I left behind.
Elizabeth Zenk Nov 2018
the drip drip drop
of my leaking love
the tune of emptying emotions.
the longing in my heart,
the lonely in my chest,
spilling into a solemn lake beneath me.
like gasoline, it sits cool,
seems to
but as soon as that puddle sparks
i can feel myself burning ablaze.
the drip drip drop
of my melting, burning love
the cackle of a lost battle.
the cackle
the crackle
of a fierce raging fire
Elizabeth Zenk Aug 2018
When you look at the most popular poems.
You don’t see the ones with the most quality or meaning.
You see the ones that get validated.
The author had no part in it.
Now, watch as another desperate attempt to get through gets lost in
my feed.
Elizabeth Zenk Aug 2018
Stuff your mouth with food, so that you can stop your crying.
Don't think twice about the effect it will have.
You'll take care of that later, my dear.
Trust me.
Elizabeth Zenk Aug 2018

The lights go on and off
My body remains still.
My face shifts.
You ask if anything happened, but I refuse to talk about the tears I was fighting.
As I fought against the stresses of being lost in flashing colors and patterns
I wonder if when the lights were flashing
if you could see the colors.
See the patterns.
Trapped in a dazzling world of sparking lights.
Morphing into one trippy, mind-melting screen.


It felt as though my heart was matching up with the rhythm of the strobe light.

Yes, I didn’t react this time,
but I was so so scared.
Stuck in a bright limbo.
Elizabeth Zenk Jul 2018
Why should I even get up?
I know I'm meaningless.
I know life is a pointless endeavor.
I know I'm unlikable, unloveable, and pathetic.
So why do I get out of bed?
There is no reason.
I should just stay right here and never leave.
Left with the only person who can hurt me now.
But even I don't want to stay here completely.
I'm still telling myself,

"elizabeth, you need to get up."
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