I looked at myself through an oracle’s mirror;
At the person I was, have become and one day could be…
I saw a little seraph girl with a crooked halo
Resting on her devil horns.
Her tired heart and brave mind
Were curious yet guarded.
That day I saw myself
With every scar
Every fallen tear
And every milestone.
I peaked through my wings
And saw the devil They never wanted
But the angel for whom I still fought for
On the darkest nights
And loved on the brightest mornings.
I have become a paragon of imperfections and flaws.
Transformed into a tesselation
Of loosely sutured calamity weaving
Through the complexities of my benevolence.
I saw the world in its blackened beauty
Reflected so wondrously
In shades of good and evil
And wrong and right
And wrapped ever so tightly in adventure.
My golden apple waiting just outside of Eden’s gates.
Shall I take it?
And be locked out of my garden forever?
The cherubs will be forlorn,
And the demons may even shed a tear,
And the hell whose flames I’ve kept so tamed
May reach out and dance across the garth.
It has been far too long since I have written or shared any kind of poetry. I worked very ******* this but I want to learn how to improve so criticisms and feedback are always welcome!
It'd be great
To not feel stupid for caring.
It'd be great
Not to be put on top of the world
And then left there
It would be amazing
To have something more
C o n s i s t e n t
And more solid
Than anything known to man.
It'd be breathtaking to have my breath taken
Rather than left gasping
For an air that
Okay to breathe
But it would be tragic for me
To write these words with an unbridled hope for
Those great things
And those amazing things
And those wonderful things
And those breathtaking
All because its a comedy
To think you care.
I couldn't explain the title if I tried it just feels fitting for my experience with the subject if this poem. It's been a while since I've written anything so please tell me how I did.
He loved me like a wrecking ball.
Beautiful in his own way
But destructive all the same.
I loved him like a mouse
Hungry and staring at the trap laid in front of me
But too tempted by the parts I needed
To notice he was death.
What if I don’t leave a note?
Would you lie awake at night and wonder what pushed me over the edge?
Would you close your eyes and think of which of those words—
The one’s we were always told could never hurt us—
Found it’s way so deep into my heart that I started to crumble?
Would you curse the world for the sticks and stones that broke all my bones
and kept me frozen in place unable to run from the pain?
Would you feel disgust in the ground you walk on for swallowing me down 6 feet below?
Do you think you’d scream at whatever God we’ve created in the sky that allowed such evil to exist?
What if I never tell you which goodbye would be our last?
How would you remember it?
Would you start to realize the fear in my voice,
Or the uncertainty in my actions,
Or the steady decline of my broad smile and sparkling eyes to nothing more than frowns made of coal?
Would you know?
That I was ready to slip into the darkest parts of my being and never returned.
Would you know and deny it because you thought I was strong?
What if I leave you a map?
A map of all the places I’ve been, the place where I am, and all the places I once wanted to go.
Would you walk through the world I couldn’t handle for me?
Would you want to breathe the air as I once did
Or are you too afraid it’ll just crush you too?
So many questions left to ask and left to answer,
But in a world where words move mountains and build faiths and break hearts and mends them…
Questions are better than tears.
If I write a note it’ll break you and I don’t want to show you the **** side of a world you see such beauty in.
And I cannot bare that never ending phone call where neither of us want to say goodbye and hang up,
Because we both know what would come next.
And if you walk in my footsteps the you are walking down a minefield with no proper preparations,
So even what you feel is the right step could mean your life and that is not a burden I wish to pass on.
So, if I don’t leave a note,
Or a map,
And I don’t tell you which goodbye is our last,
Do not resent me because that’s a pain that not even death can stop.
I cannot die leaving my hurt behind
On the shoulders of the only beautiful thing this world has left.
I'm sorry if this is too sad, I'm just venting
There was beauty in the way he hurt me.
So I found others love to be ****.
The sweet, sinful daggers he used to degrade me
I wore like a suit of armor that protected me from the world.
Now I stand in the mirror looking at the suit made of thorns
Tattered and broken
To match the remains of my heart he forgot to take with him.
I close my eyes and open them again
Waiting for this nightmare to end.
Now I stand in my bedroom.
I am naked.
Hidden only from the world outside these four walls.
I closed my eyes, but did not open them,
Rubbing my hands along the hills and dips in my skin
The mountain ridges of scars
And counted every rib that felt like bars
Sealing me within myself when I just wanted to escape!
There was pain in the way he loved me,
Leaving an unfeasible idea of me loving myself.
Cause every morning I wake up and I say
“You can do it!
You don’t have to conquer Everest in a day,
But you are strong enough to get half way there!
You can do it!
Keep breathing even when oxygen becomes so heavy your lungs collapse under the pressure.”
But then I’m standing in the mirror.
Or I’m standing in my bedroom.
Naked and broken.
Tattered and ashamed.
Tears carve their ways down my face and each drop lightly pecking the upward pointing corners of my mouth.
I wonder if he can still feel my world shake.
Because if somewhere in the world a butterfly can do the only thing they know how
And create hurricanes,
Why can't the slight tremble of my lips as I force them into a smile to prove that “I’m okay.” —
Why can’t that cause mountains to shake
And walls to crumble?
Why is it that only I fall apart?
There was destruction in the way he left me.
I don’t think you get it.
I don’t think you can grasp how hard it is for me.
Every morning I wake up
And every place he touched me burns and hurts as if they are fresh wounds
As if I’m a scarred soldier returning from a war I used to think was love.
I felt ***** and disgusting.
I felt impure and rotten.
I hated myself more than I even thought imaginable.
So I romanticized the feelings of hurt and I exposed the scars on my body as if they were a sight to be seen.
All of them.
Every inch of me was not mine
Every breath I took belonged to another.
Every single moment I lived was for someone else’s pleasure.
Because that was my worth.
He took the one thing I had left that belonged to me.
I was broken but I couldn’t bare to admit to what had broken me.
I couldn’t handle accepting that I fell in love with the devil.
“These are not bruises,” I would pronounce proudly. “They are marks of true passion.”
I turned pain into something so beautiful that the word ‘love’ was simply not enough.
It was meant to be.
I told myself that everyday because you told me that there are no accidents.
“God will put the right people in your life,” you assured me.
So I believed in those words and told myself I was wrong for hurting and that I loved him so it was fine.
That was the spring when something in me died when it should have bloomed.
And that was the summer when I was too scared to fly any closer to the sun,
So it reached down and set me ablaze instead.
That was the year I could no longer believe that a God could exist among such terrible things.
This is a really personal poem and if anyone has experienced the kind of abuse I tried to convey my emotions about in this I'm so sorry. I am and forever will be someone anyone can talk to if they need someone. <3