Everything good about them starts to hurt,
doesn't it?

Once you begin to realize that
while you were
   f
         a
                 l
            l
           ­      i
             n
                  g
They were just biding time.

While you were running towards them,
they were searching for the exit.

When you were m_ ss _ng them,
they were looking for better people to see
better places to be.

When you were feeling C0nFus3d,
their friends were laughing with them - at your expen$e.

While you were falling     a p a r  t

 high,
   they were getting             not feeling a thing.

While you were giving them the benefit of the doubt,
they were doubting you had any benefits.

While you were trying to
p  
          a   t
                      c  #
 things up,

They were trying to let you   d
                                                    o
          ­                                           w
                                                               ­ n  easy.

All of the good things become
                   rui
           ne
  d

How lovely they made you feel

Before doesn't matter.

You were  d      r        a       g     g    i      n    g   out
what they wanted to come to an
end...

Now all that you have left are the memories
             a-t-t-a-c-h-e-d   to the
p \ in that comes

After.



©Kateland Dwyer
*1/5/2017

there must be a place where broken words go
the ones without a limb
not fully formed
not spoken right
not heard

there must be a place where broken words go
the sentences left uncompleted
the trailing words that never left the lips
the "but" and the "and"
that were always left hanging

somewhere between silence and speech
there must be a place where broken words go
full of stutters and writers block sufferers
somewhere between the "i love"
and the "you" that never followed
or the "wait"
that was whispered into the air
the "please come back"
that made peace with dying
on the corners of a turning mouth

there must be a place where broken words go
the words spoken but never heard
the letters written but never posted
the train of thought that crashed into the clouds
the words in the bottle that traveled the sea
but sunk to the bottom before it could ever reach

there must be a place where my broken words go
the stains on my diary that didn't come from a pen
and the letters on my thighs that don't make sense
the things i could never say
and the things i said that came out all wrong
all the broken alphabets in my song
that cry for salvation
for one more chance

there must be a place where broken words go
there must be a place i can call home.