toughen up chickee,
wipe the tears from your face
put a smile in their place.
stand tall and let them see
how strong you can choose to be.
shaded lips to stop them dead,
you’ll play a mantra in your head,
keep that **** far away
and square your shoulders,
to face a new day.

Here's a poem to celebrate poetry month!

Challenge by Jean Nette

Life, I challenge you to try me,
Doom me to unending pain;
Stay my hand, becloud my vision,
Break my heart and then-- again.

Shatter every dream I've cherished,
Fill my heart with ruthless fear;
Follow every smile that cheers me
With a bitter, blinding tear.

Thus I dare you; you can try me,
Seek to make me cringe and moan,
Still my unbound soul defies you,
I'll withstand you--and, alone!

I place the unpolished prose
on blank paper again.
Normally I’d suit it up,
ready it for the debut,
replay it in my head
to find the words,
perfect in their row,
but these days I’m all out
and this is what I have to show.

His touch, forced and hungry,
still echoes on my skin.
I’d hoped to tattoo that space
with your name,
your warmth to drive away the pain
and claim my skin again.
But now I’m left to stare
at the empty space
where the traces of his name
sit on top of yours.

with promises of forever,
I touched the love locks,
lit up by city sights and ocean views,
metal hearts hung, with faded names.
I touched the locks to bring some luck,
touched them with the promise of us.
That lock long since broken,
falls pathetic to the ground,
empty promises spill forth,
but no one is around
to see it fall.
I looked for love and found it lacking,
and you left, got to packing,
leaving broken metal on the ground,
the last mark of love,
of us,
underneath the bridge of locks,
forgotten tributes of love.

Pining is not a good look for me,
it clashes with my flowing shirts
and distracts from my lemon scarf.
Longing is just a few shades better,
occasionally matching my blue blouse.
Anger works okay, but it seems fake,
like my vibrant lips or 4-inch heels.
Love would work, it’d blend beautifully
with my color scheme,
make each plain top sparkle, but alas,
love is out of season, a terrible throwback
without being vintage,
what am I left with?

I climbed high for restoration,
for the rebirth of emotions,
for the cleansing of my soul
amid the chirp of birds,
the hum of water,
the freshness of the air.
I climbed high for strength,
to find myself again,
a me without you.
I climbed high for relief
from the smiles of the everyday,
I climbed high for me,
but still,
I thought of you.