du fik den af din mor og far
den dag du blev født
den dag du kom til verden
uskyldig og ren og lille
og uvidende
det var den røde tråd
meningen med dit liv
og de gav den til dig
så du kunne forlænge den
og slå mindeværdige knuder på den
og det gjorde du
i mange år
indtil han kom forbi
og efter flere års forlængelse (forelskelse)
klippede han den over
med sine skarpe ord
og den var i stykker
og du var i stykker
og meningen med dit liv
var i stykker
og selvom du var spejder
dengang du gik i børnehave
kunne ikke engang
den stærkeste (*****) knude
binde den sammen
binde dig sammen
selvom du forsøgte ihærdigt
dagligt
men på din uniform
sad intet **** mærke
kun et bål mærke
og det brændte indeni
og han lod dig brænde
indtil den røde tråd var forkullet
sort
sort som natten
sort som dit sind
og du fik den af din mor og far
den dag du blev født
og du døde den dag
han tog den fra dig

My wrists still hurt from
the day you grabbed my arm
and my cuts opened up
underneath my sleeve.
I pulled away
but I didn't mention the pain
because how do you tell someone
who has never shed a drop of blood in
their life,
that every part of you is bleeding.

add a poem
share your story with the world
tell them your feelings
your sorrows
your hopes and your fears

add a poem
make it public
everyone can read how you feel

but one of these days
i'll have nothing
left to give

I hear you twittering away in the background.
You sing to yourself a lot, did you know?

                                                  I see you tapping on your leg
                                                  I love the way you sound, did you know?

I smell the scent of old wood and music on your collar.
You carry it around with you, did you know?

                                                I feel you holding my heart in every word.
                                                You keep it alive, did you know?

I taste sweet love on your lips.
It is pure and intoxicating, did you know?

                                   Did you know that every little thing
                                      you do drives me a little crazier?


                                    Crazy in a good way, did you know?

there's nothing beautifully
tragic about wanting to slit
your wrist open and drown
in your own blood
there's no one to wipe away
your tears and sing you a
lullaby while you fall asleep
in their arms
there's not going to be some
sort of miracle person that
will burst into your life and
take away all of the tragedy
and pain
you have to do it yourself
you have to pick yourself up
brush off your knees
save yourself

Let your lips
graze my skin,
leaving no
exposed patch
untouched.
Pepper my
broken pieces
with your perfect
bandaids and
mend the scars
I swear would
never leave.
I am utterly
convinced
you are the
antidote I
thought
I'd never
find.
-JRM

What syllable are you seeking,
Vocalissimus,
In the distances of sleep?
Speak it.