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Claire Billings Apr 2021
And so,
When his words ran dry,
my tears began to flow,
like a river of melted snow.

My heart has ached years for you
calling out like a nightingale's song,
lost in the wind.

Though you're colder than ice I still seek your warmth.

For the heart wants what the heart wants
It's been nearly 3 years now and we just fumble to one another in our darkest hours though my feelings still ring true
Claire Billings Feb 2021
I am mad

Mad at the world
for not being just

You say life's not fair
Well, I ask why?

Is there some rule stating it must be so?
You don't know

So I say change it
And you say no
Claire Billings Feb 2021
We are the children of the ******
Thinking basic necessities were luxuries
and that love was earned not unconditional

We are the children who carved
and starved
before we even hit our teens

We are the children who grow up to be
The ones you point at
and warn your children of as we pass by

We're the ones who end up in coffins
rather than receiving diplomas
and fulfilling our dreams
because we don't have time to dream
When we only think of surviving the day

We were made this way

So God bless the children of the ******
The ones who are having their stilts hacked at
but are somehow still standing

And God bless those who have fallen
and been taken
be it their own choice or someone else's

May our graves not be overgrown with weeds
and faded plastic flowers
and our tales passed on,
not forgotten memories or sad stories

God bless the children of the ******
yeah yeah I know my parents and being raised in poverty can't be my crutch but we still live and go through this daily, and you fellow children are some of the strongest I've been blessed to know <3
Claire Billings Feb 2021
Romance as a person from a broken home is constantly pondering whether it's love
Or loving the feeling of finally being wanted

Leaving you in loveless
and poisonous relationships
in the sake of filling the void your parents created
Claire Billings Feb 2021
Do you ever wish
To simply not exist?

Because it's not the void after death I fear,
It's being a spectator watching everyone's lives go by when I die

I wanna end it all
But the thought of failing scares me,
adding more scars to my repertoire
for everyone to continue to mock
or to leave myself even more of a mess than I was before

But staying is hard too,
Meaningless days blurring into the next
That empty feeling replacing sadness and joy alike
Abuse and neglect creating a crown of thorns upon my head

Newton's First Law: people in motion stay in motion, it's just sometimes easier that way
Every day I'm just waiting for my unbalanced force
Claire Billings Feb 2021
A single mother in desperation of financial stability and love,
dances from one manipulative man to the next

Each leaving her a little more broken
and killing off what little hope her two children have
for a father-figure to love them

Finally, she settles for a man whose words are sharp like knives
and creates shackles on her ankles

Expectations for a son give her two more daughters and finally a golden baby boy
Rampant favoritism for the new three breaks down the two eldest until it replaces their once eager-to-please hearts with hatred

Both battered with harsh words and threats until tears dry up and eyes hardened to combat the pain

Every adult near turns a cheek to every cry for help
and each plea responded to with punishment

Tongues scarred from biting back words
and faces turned slack to let the insults run off like water

Unhealthy coping mechanisms flourished
Starting far too young and soon
from toxic boyfriends for themselves
to cutting away the pain
or trying to end the pain altogether with a final act

Though no bruises marked the two eldest,
their scars and wounds ran deeper than flesh and bone
Claire Billings Feb 2021
As my father lay,
passed out in his chair
with whiskey nursing his dead heart
and healing his origami wrists

My sister and I's stomaches ache with hunger
I sacrifice my last piece of poptart to her
and pray to make it till my mother comes home

She crashes into the door
An alarm for my father harmonizes in a disastrous symphony
He dashes out the door for the next shift
Leaving my mother, crying after seeing the mess and her children passed out by the empty fridge

Her grease burnt arms scrub the wine covered coffee table
Until red stains turn pink and empty cigarette packs fill the trash

She picks up a glass and fills it with wine
and drinks away the memories until everything is warm

Thus continues the cycle

Money sparse, bills unpaid, cupboards nearly bare
Two parents whose love had been infested with addiction and depression
stemming from broken, abusive homes and even more abusive past relatioships

Leaving two children in the destruction of constant fighting which led to divorce

The eldest following her mother's footsteps of constant abuse and taking on her father's pain with origami wrists to match

The youngest never bounced back, a brick wall built from years of silence left her permanently mute. Every day she drifts further and further away from reality and lives in her fantasy world.
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