broken poet

broken poet May 2018

i’m forcing my words on to this page
i’m getting the words down in lines
they mirror my wrist
so they get down on this page
then no more lines on this wrist of my
i’m pouring my heart out and it hurts just as much
i relapsed
i sat there in my bed
i had to do it
i couldn’t stop it
there’s no way to hide it
someone’s gonna see
they’re gonna know
i’ll be exposed
i’ll be even more broken
because then this darkness that tears my skin
now it’s real
now i have to face the fact
i am broken

broken poet May 2018

slipping

my
mother
asked
me
‘you know you have me right?’
i
looked
to
my
mother
and
said
‘mom i know,’
my
voice
was
quiet
she
looked
at
me
with
such
sweet
sorrow
my
heart
caved
she
didn’t
need
to
know
of
the
tears
and
the
blood
she
didn’t
deserve
that
pain
so
i
smiled
and
made
sure
she
felt
secure
because
if
she
fell
apart
there
would
be
no
hope
for
me
‘i’m worried about you.’
i
smile
at
her
words
‘good.’

‘that means you’re paying attention.’

broken poet May 2018

bobble head

i’ve turned into a bobblehead
i nod
up and down
i shake my head
side to side
a smile on my face
never faltering

you ask me
‘are you okay?’
i respond ‘of course.’ i shake my head and smile

‘should i be worried about you?’
i ignore the question
i can’t lie but i can’t tell you the truth

‘how was your day?’
i smile and nod my head ‘my day was fine, uneventful.’
i don’t lie i just don’t tell you everything
i don’t tell you how i sit in the shower and cry
how i was doing so well then i took that blade to my wrist
how when i think about the future there is nothing there

my problem have disappeared
i smile
i nod
because i must be okay
if i’m not okay then you would blame yourself
and it’s not you it’s me

broken poet Apr 2018

rise up

you ignore my pleas for help,
you don’t look at me until it suits you.
you don’t look at me until there is blood
blood, blood dripping down my wrists.

but then it’s too late
the damage has been done
the wounds have healed
and the only thing left are the tears
on my cheeks
and the blood that has stained the carpet.
my blood washes out
and if you try hard enough you’ll soon forget my cries for help.

once my blood has gone and my cries silenced
i will rise from my spot
i will brush off my tears and i will continue on
each step I take followed by a drop of blood.
each breath i take followed by a stab in my chest.

— The End —