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  Sep 2019 Madeline Hatter
uselace
"I liked your smile better
When you were younger,"
She said
I was tempted to ask why
But we both knew.
It's harder to smile now.
Madeline Hatter Sep 2019
My truth has stretch marks.
It expands and contracts to accommodate your fragile ego.

Expands.
Bandaging, covering the wounds you incurred, when something far more serious is needed for triage.
The words you need to hear.
"It's fine."
"I'm okay."
Am I?
I cannot be certain anymore.

Contracts.
Retreating within the depths of myself to compartmentalize and to please you.
An inner monologue of comfort.
"It's fine."
"I'm okay."
Am I?
I cannot be certain anymore.

What has become of the truth when it can be twisted and turned, expanded and contracted, stretched and warped?
Is it still viable?
Is it okay?
Is it fine?
I cannot be certain anymore.
Madeline Hatter May 2017
Sorry is a word.
It has sounds and syllables.
It carries meaning,
although, sometimes it doesn't.

Is your sorry empty, full, half-empty, half-full?
Do you put the weight of truth behind it to lift it up?
When you make the sounds are you just making the sounds?
Are you simply enunciating the consonants to make them resonate
with the hard "E" at the end?

Is your sorry just a word?
Or is it a feeling?
A feeling that tears you up inside so that you must utter this word
to allow your hurt and pain to escape?
Your mouth, the portal by which the truth slides free,
by which you unburden:
is this aperture the escape route of your anguish?
Or are you just creating noise?

If you are sorry, REALLY, Really, really sorry,
show me that you can put together more than five letters.
I want to feel your word and the honesty built around it.
Show me that you embody each of these letters
with all of the cells of your being.
Sorry is just a word,
but when and if you choose to use it, make certain it is so much more.
You know


*I'm that person
everyone replaces after a while.
Madeline Hatter Jul 2015
DIY
My doorbell is broken.
So is my heart.
I can fix my doorbell.
It was once a hand held out to you
leaking venom and broken promises
he smiled, said "Take it"
I can take care of you

Did you believe it
even when your wrists dripped
the color of your own self-destruction?

When Be Mine
became less edible ink
on Valentine candy
and more invisible shackles
disguised as the bangles
he tightened around you
to hide the scars.

When You are so easy to manipulate
started sounding like,
"You are so easy to love"

and you let the words morph into something beautiful,
because you so badly wanted to believe in the lie.

When you begin to tell yourself
that He never hit me
was the same as He never hurt me

And you start to wonder how
He broke you so gently.
Emotional abuse is just as bad...
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