I was never this soft
So breakable
I was a hard cover book
Strong and new
That you bent back to read
Allowing myself to be so easy.

Now my spine is broken
Cover clearly used
Abandoned,
Alone,
Abused
How could you?

My story remains
With pages still intact
Someone else will come along
Gentle enough
To repair my broken back.

I’m fragile
Susceptible to further damage
Cracked down the middle
Barely hanging
Slowly healing

Does this story get a sequel?
Another chance for something real
I’m fearful I’ll never recover
With pages badly wilted
Discolored
Torn, and bent back.

Greasy thumbprints
Smeared along my text
Leaving permanent imprints
On my once pretty print.

My story has changed too.
How could this remain a fairytale,
After consuming the forbidden fruit?

I’m half dead
And my book
Has been read through
By someone who skipped ahead
Just to know the end
And stupidly,
I let them.

Thinking that if they knew
All the secrets of my story
The struggles
The success
My journey
They would love me
Not leave me.

If only I kept my chapters safe
Knowing I’m worthy
For a slower pace
Not rushed through
And read in a day.

You might have read the ending
Little do you know
That was the preface.

Better yet,
I’ll remove you completely
Editor’s revision says
There is no space for you here.

Backspace, delete.
Now you're just history
All that is left
Is to empty the trash bin.

You call me a star
But even stars explode.

You call me a fairytale
But even fairytales end.

You call me beautiful
But things change
Grow old
Fade.

You hold me
And sometimes I feel safe
Other times I feel suffocated
Trapped
And want to runaway.

You get mad
When I say I’m tired
And I want to go home
It has nothing to do with you.

I have troubles in my mind
But how can I take care of them
When I’m staying up late
And save no space
To help the craziness
I’ve created.

I can’t remember the last time
I felt this way
Because I’ve never been here before;
How do I go on
Knowing I need independence
But also someone to love.

Your desires of me are destructive
They create expectations
I’ll never meet
I fear the only way
I can survive
Is if I drive away.

I have my Best Coast blasting
Penetrating my ear drums
It’s the only sound
That drowns out the voice
Telling me I’m full of mistakes
And I’ll never be happy.

Sing to me Bethany
Your music is the only remedy
That is able to save me
From this insane pain
Inside my crazy brain.

I have this amputated vision of beauty
I feel I am supposed to be
A specific set of criteria
I am expected to meet:
Shaped perfectly
Delicate and light
Designed and idealized
Like a crystal champagne glass.

Gripped with only *******
And a pinky erectly raised
To signify elegance
An object with little weight.

People would want me;
They would press their lips
Against my rim
Taking a sip
Taking me in.

They would tilt their head back
Scoff and laugh
Gabbing about the day they had
Conversations over choosing paint swatches
“Lemon or cornsilk, the choice is too difficult."
God forbid they pick plain yellow.

Flashing fake teeth
Giving compliments they don’t mean
Over 30 and still gossiping.

Is that who I am?
Is that who I really want to be?
This idea of a human
Consumed with aesthetic beauty
A mere champagne glass
But made out of plastic.

I am not a champagne glass
I am in a different class.

I am a hand painted mug
Born in a ceramic painting store
Surrounded by various pottery
Cups, plates, figurines, galore.
In walks a girl with the desire to create
Make something beautiful
To love and adore.

Everything she is
Was placed into that mug
Favorite designs
Her inability to stay within the lines.
But these
Little intricacies  
Is what gives her beauty.

Perfect isn’t relatable
In fact, it’s unattainable.

I am a mug
Cold and heat tolerant
I can be roughly handled
Won’t break from a drop
Off a counter top.
Ask that of a champagne glass
Watch a breeze,
Have it fall to it’s knees
And shatter into pieces.

Thin
Breakable
And only seen
Under the hand of another’s command.
Put back when finished
Into my showcase
Until the next holiday
With only one purpose:
To be used for looks.

I am a mug
Not societies type
But does that make me ugly?
Say that to the little girl
Look in her eye
Watch her cry
Tell it to her face
Bring her to shame.

Why do we talk to each other this way?
We need acceptance
Not lessons
On how to have the best this and that.

I am not a champagne glass
So am I automatically fat?

Tell that to the little girl
Strip her of innocent purity
Give her insecurities
Distorted imageries
Of who she should be.

My mother believes
Her perception is the exception
“Be a lady”
“Be dainty”
“That dress isn’t very flattering”
“Do you hear me, Lauren Marie?”

I hear you mother
And all your opinions
But I am not open
To accepting any of them.

You love me entirely
But your words bully me
Like bullet in my chest
It’s hard to walk away
Feeling anything but less.
You’re in denial
Because you treat me like a child
I will never be
“Little Miss Perfect Lauren Marie”

I don’t want to be a champagne glass
Because I don’t drink
I’m not one for wine
I'd rather have tea.

Grab a mug, please mommy
We can cuddle together
And I’ll read my poetry.
But I see
You’re still reaching
For that crystal glass in me.

We own a kettle
One day you’ll want tea.

Sometimes, I still long for the taste of your tongue
In my mouth.
How your brutal hands that ripped
My heart from my chest
Once caressed my back and waist.

I wasted love on you.
My glass full
From years of saving;
Sacrificing other gentleman callers
and their date dollars.

Spending nights alone,
Extending my hand out the window
Collecting ‘love drops’
That filter in my cup.

I poured everything into your body.
How was I to know
You would drain

Every

Last

Drop?

Lost.
All the fluid of my feelings
Kept safe for good keeping,
Gone.
In seconds

…All


Drains


Away…

Amazingly,
All my feelings that poured into your body
Left no impression or influence.
You’re still cold;
A one-track mind.
A drain you are.

Maybe it be best
I fall in love with a plumber next.
To give back what was mine
And he can provide
The Tools I need to avoid
     Fools
        Like
          You.
Currently,
My cup holds ice.
But in time, the ice will melt
From the warmth of another love
And a pair of hands
That can hold my heart.

I painfully learned
That my cup is not meant to be empty
And completely given to someone.
The majority is for me
I won’t be left thirsty.

Drip…
Drop…

Hear that?
It’s my cup, re-filling.
Good riddance.

She hikes as a way
To escape.
She’s outspoken,
But internally broken.
She cries
Most the time.
Because she's learning to cope.
Loathing loneliness.

But more importantly,
She does her best
Each and everyday
To be forgiving
And allow herself the grace
To know
That perfect is impossible
Mistakes aren't her fault,
But a backwards way of freedom.

She's rigid
But only to herself
Believes people are inherently good
If only she could be included.
She speaks her mind
And sometimes her words
Are misunderstood.
She picks on herself for being different
Though people admit
Her presence is like a beacon of light;
Pure sunshine.

She has blue eyes
That see beyond the surface
In more ways than one
She is like the sea;
Vast, deep, filled with mystery.
Never shallow or transparent
Very powerful and her current
Depends on her mood
Some would say the moon.
But ironically
She fears the ocean,
Scared of depth and unknown
Doesn't like monsters or the cold.
She fears herself
And all her potential.
If only she could remember
She deserves something better.

It's hard to tell she suffers;
She's guarded, and hides pain beneath her smile.
But it's not a lie.
She adores the world
And prays one day
It may find peace.
Which is why she's still trying,
Getting up each morning,
Attempting to reclaim her body
Without disappointment or shame.

Give her patience
She will come around
Even the ocean has moments
When the current is down.
Wait until the moon is at its fullest phase
Watch the waves begin to raise.
Moods aren't meant to stay the same
They ebb and flow
transform and change.
She could complain,
but she knows each feeling has a place
bad exists to appreciate good days.

I want to be a wish,
Something magnificent.
Considered so carefully,
Desired so deeply.

I want to be a wish
Be the flame
Of every birthday candle.
With eyelids closed tightly,
And breath blown ever so lightly.

In that moment
That second
That instant
Before breath
Escapes lips,
And the fire is extinguished
She believed in herself.
Believed in her wishes.

I am that girl
Curious,
Insightful,
Tenacious,
Yet bashful.  
Begging the question
Who will I be?
Answer me, wish
Please, pretty please.

I want to be a wish
That penny tossed in the Trevi.
One cent is practically worthless
But as a wish,
It's priceless.
All those shiny coins
Sink to the bottom.

Hope floats to the top
Reflecting light
Shimmering bright.
Each coin represents a child
Who bared the same gleam in their eye
Sparing the time
And a little change
To make a wish
Heal their pain.

I want to be a wish,
Something marvelous.
Breathtaking and beautiful
Absolute and metaphysical.

I want to be a wish,
That star shooting through the sky.
Captivating,
Stunning,
Sparkling,
Something worth remembering.

I want to be a wish,
That well kept secret.
Never to tell
In fear it will leave us.
Like a prayer said in the quite of the night.
We asking for something
Speaking to someone
We hold onto wishes,
As a way to create reason.

In a universe filled with millions
There’s an epidemic of loneliness.
Wishes give us this sense of purpose.
Aid us to not feel helpless.

One day your wish will come true
I am your wish speaking to you.

Honey,
you'll always be
precious to me.
I see
how we
fit perfectly.

The heat
exchanged between
our bodies
generates enough energy
to support the universe.
We are the gravity
of our Milky Way.

Constellations concentrate,
emulate,
imitate
our shape.
A pattern worthy to create
for all to see.
Outlining our bodies
then painting
our figure in the sky.

Leaving a trace
for others to gaze.
Astronomers will say:
“look how they blaze;
burn bright,
illuminating the night”.

Shedding light
to guide
those striving
and fighting
to find
the kind of love we found.

How lucky we are,
and fortunate to be.
Honey,
you'll always be
precious to me.