'                                              You Can always tell
                                            When His heart is going astray.
                                        You'll losE his compassion when he talks.
                                 You'll notice A hint of guilt in his walk.
                                        The time Together will feel hallow.
                       Your gut will start Eting away at your thoughts.
                       Maybe it's just youR self consciousness showing through.
It's hard to believe that when he Stops replying "I love you".
*-dh

here's the thing.....
no one has chained
you to the chair,
put your head
in a vice,
glued your eyes open,
turned on the computer
and is forcing you
to read this poem.....

or indeed any one elses
work either.....

if you don't like my work ....move on
if you find everybodies
work sub par.....
consider this revealation
it might be you....
not the forum.....
that has an issue...

words and the artistic placement of them.....
is or at least should be an activity open to all.
not just the elite....

time moves so quickly
you know I'm just sitting back and taking it all in
how much that has changed
everything that has happened
the battles that I've overcome
the lives that I've crossed paths with
the emotions that I've experienced
the memories that I've remembered

and to this present place in time
I can see everything in my past
and I know that much is not my present

I am having trouble seeing how much time has actually changed things

one hundred years from now what will they remember
will you or I be remembered

50 years from now will you or I even remember each other

25 years from now will I have young adult children

10 years from now will I be self satisfied and reach all of my ambitions

5 years from now will I still have contact with my current friends

2 years from now will it feel like only yesterday

1 year from now I imagine it to be foggy and uncertain and an uphill journey.  

**how are my current thoughts affecting my feelings?

She was broken
And she acknowledged it.

But what does that mean?
A broken human is surely different
From a broken toy.

You cannot replace the batteries
Or superglue the cracks.

What does it mean to be broken?
It means to be human.
And not quite fixable.

How do I start this?
How do I express this to you?
Well, here's the thing.
I like you. It's simple at that.
Sometimes I'll joke around,
tie your shoelaces together, say mean things,
but deep down I really do love you.
And I want you to go and give your heart to her,
not to me.
Why?
Because she will be so much better for you.
She's sophisticated,
I am quite casual.
She's smart and cute,
I'm average and insane.
She's pretty and skinny,
I am fat and ugly.
She's the one that you stare at,
I'm just that thing, that accessory, an amusement for you to use.
Though some part of me wants her to break your heart and hand it back to you,
I don't think she will, not with the way she looks at you,
and the glimmer in you eyes as you look at her,
like shimmering like sun reflections on water.
Some other part urges me to lie to myself,
they won't be together long, they'll break up,
you can finally be noticed for once,
you'll be the heroine, be the shoulder he needs.
But that's the selfish part of me.
I realize, at least he'll be happy right?
It doesn't matter if I'm content
with sitting here in the corner,
alone and observant of the love that surrounds me,
while I stay here in my sullen pitiful sphere.
It doesn't matter.
It's the way your heart beats and the way your smile
inches across your face
instantly making it all the more beautiful,
that's what matters. You'll be happy,
with someone you deserve,
someone you need in your life,
a piece of perfection,
not a berserk,
ugly,
fangirly,
lovey-dovey
nerd/geek like me.
You two turtle doves are perfect for each other,
perfect looks,
perfect grades,
perfect everything.
A barbie doll to your ken.

So please,
walk to her now,
hand her your heart,
that full and crimson thing
that beats so fast next to her, and so slow next to me,
give that to her
while I'm not looking.
Give me some mercy.

Last of all,
good luck.
I hope she will care for your heart,
the way you might care for hers,
with adoration,
kisses,
caresses,
words whispered in whimsicality,
little pearls of treasures only found with two turtle doves.
Not that I would know. And I do hope I will know someday
what it feels like to be one of those turtle doves.

Every scar has a story to tell.
My story is nothing but a dream.
To be loved for me and not for someone else.
My scars show you that I am strong , felt so much.
My heart aces with pain and sorrow.
To let you in my life is scary thought , I been through so much. But hold me tight and keep safe.
My scars , my pain, my cuts and bruises tell all a story but the life I want is a dream that I soon hope to make a reality.