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It seems another has left me
feeling cold and empty
another one bit the dust
another one left me in the shade.

This isn't my first broken heart
you'd think my heart would actually get it
to stop falling
to stop breaking
to build those walls higher
and stronger.

I get a heart transplant every month
if I didn't I'm sure I'd be dead
these hearts should go to someone on death road,
not someone foolish enough to think you'd stay.

Instead I get them
and break them easily
so easily
but tell me..
if I've broken my heart before
why does the pain stay?
why does it hurt so much?

Perhaps if I kept my old heart
it would be so much stronger...
or maybe not...
maybe it would be so weak that it would collapse
like me on the floor
a broken heap of pitiful flesh.

I don't trust anyone
but I still give my heart away.
Maybe it's because I enjoy pain
it becomes a releif
or maybe it's because I like being alone
and just don't know it.

I should stop thinking with my heart
there are cobwebs in my head
dust on the shelves
like in an old home.

I'm sure in a month I'll be fine
and I'll fall again
put scrapes on my heart
and bruises on my ego.

I'll let my insecurities drown me
in an endless black lake
which was created from my first heart break
Every tear would wash over me
pulling me down to bottom
and I would look up
and see no one to save me.

My lungs would fill with water
and I could drift away
hopefully to a safe shore

I would find myself
crawling out of the river
and laying on the cold sand,
breathing in the painful air
realising I have to move on,
I have to go on
After all..
It's just another broken heart
 Aug 2013 Lydia Victoria Kate
AJ
I will not write happier poems because you enjoy them more.
If I force it I will hate it.
And if I hate what I write I will start to cry.
And we all know how messy that can be.
We all know how you hate that.
You have three emotions,
Witnessing any more than that makes you ill.
Completely
Socially
Ill.
His silence discovered her, cutting in to her soul and revealing it to him. His ocean eyes
pull her towards him, begging for her lips, taste, touch. He found something
more in her. He was hers. She was his. But he kept his
distance, stopped his fingertips from touching her, tried to find a way of staring
at her without her noticing. Oh, but she always noticed, for she was staring, too.
Her heart craved him more than anything, he became a drug, a bittersweet
addiction filling her entire body. She needed those lips that felt
like ******, she wished he was a cigarette
so she could fill her lungs with him. His skin told a story
she'd never heard before, his voice was the record
she'd always listen to.

It was never enough for them. Despite the stolen touches in crowds,
or the bedroom eyes across the floor; they always needed more.
She wanted to kiss him more than she wanted her next breath.
He wanted to kiss her more than he wanted his last breath.
But they couldn't touch, for he was a coward
and she was a liar
and they didn't know how to love eachother
without breaking eachother's hearts.
So they kept their distance,
pretended that they were never meant,
pretending their heart's didn't ache
everytime they saw one another.
For the sake of pride,
they could not have eachother.
He was somebody elses
and she a wandering ghost
still drowning in his ocean eyes,
still lost in him.
Now
I know you're sad.
I know life has skinned you raw and raked you over the embers of despair.
But don't hesitate...
Dance now:
If not now, when?
It rains, the sky splits, the world heaves.
Dance now, because life will always hurt in the living of it.

You've lost, and the hole you learned to live with
But never to like
Echoes with cavernous emptiness.
Feel joy now, even if nothing is what you wanted it to be:
If not now, when?
Joy is brightest in the depths of sorrow.

The wolves circle, baying, and the moon glows venomous in the sky
It is dark down here
And you are alone.
Sing now.
Add your voice to the throng and raise up your spirit with theirs,
Energy and air and electricity in thorned ****** along your skin.
Let their savagery, their wildness
Wrap icy fingers around your heart
And fill you with the cold, clear freedom of loneliness.
Chorus with the wolves:
If not now, when?
Make your company of the land- one voice sounds like many when it rings off trees and skims frozen rivers.

Cruelty and disappointment abound
But life is vicious. It's true.
It is both hungry and beautiful,
Rough and gentle,
Like a tide that loves the seaside rocks smooth.
Love now.
Give your heart, however broken, scarred, or bleeding.
Give your heart fully and without fear.
Love now:
If not now, when?

Someone will always fail you,
Something will always hurt you.
Nothing will ever be perfect.
Stop waiting.
Be perfectly alive:
If not now,
When?
mom was soft
like a cushion
when you sat on her lap as a child
and rested your cheek against her shoulder
she was better
than any
bed.

mothers should be soft.
i have come to this conclusion.
mom was never very thin
she was a perfect plump
with red cheeks
and rainbow eyes
and thin,
rough
dishwater fingers
that would stroke your cheek
and sing the goodnight song
she made up
just for us.

i don't like rainy nights.
it makes me feel like the whole world is crying.
i miss her today.

"Goodnight, sleeptight, go to sleep my little Red
precious, darling
sweet little girl.

Lullaby, lullaby,
go to sleep my little Red
lullaby, lullaby,
sweet little girl."
if i had a reason for every scar on my thigh
and ones that i could remember
i would write them all down
just to see
what hurt the most
what threw me over the edge
with no regrets
just to have a clear list
of what i can't handle
so i would maybe stop
creating the same problems
over
and
over
again
step one:
stop falling
in love
I paint a picture of my face
And hide it every day,
For darkness holds a subtle grace,
Where only the fallen lay.

My mind retreats beneath the veil
Of etiquette and blush
Too far away to sound their wail,
My thoughts fall dead and hushed.

I almost lost my grasp, today,
Amidst the daily act,
For to forget the mask would give away
Something too hidden to retract.

The eyes I wear were  crafted
By eager, destructive hands,
Determined to mold a plastic
To withstand my soul's demands.

You know me not, my sorry friend,
And hidden I shall stay,
For to open up would bring an end
To the most beautiful facade.

My audience calls out the plot,
As I readily obey,
As my feet drag blood across the stage,
They lament their accolades.

I'm hidden here, despite the light
That bears upon my face
Only to find solace in the night
Obscured by a perverted grace.
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