Heartbreak is the simplest
And the most devastating thing
To ever happen to any young girl

She puts so much hope into her relationship
So much pride into what she can call hers
Then it is torn from her so quickly
She never saw it coming

And all the sudden
It is *over

The color of heartbreak.


The     empty         spaces           of          heartbreak.

The SIZE of heartBREAK

But The Memory:

That night
That day
Those shoes
Your hair
That smell
That noise
That song
My stomach
Your hands

That beat you tapped out with your foot
                                Made me love you forever at that moment



The Beauty of heartbreak:


i was alive.

A love where you’re

Ignored,

Unseen,

Forgotten,

Competing,

Overlooked,

H­oping,

Wishing,

Praying,

Is nothing.

The worst kind of love is where

You’re waiting…

For that one message

For all these not to happen

All over again.

What makes a bird a bird is it's wings. Like a soul it's wings transport it to places it may have never dreamed of before, soaring through the clouds in sync with the dipping sunset. But not all birds can fly efficiently; some are fast and others are slow.

I like to consider myself a fast bird for most of my life, always determined with what I want and when I want it, whilst each flap of my wings accelerates me even more into the ever progressing pendulum of sky.

But lately things have changed and everyday the sunset gets longer and longer, the clouds thicker and thicker. It's as if I've flown towards a goal at full acceleration, pressured by the constant bickering of time, only to hit the wing of a man made airplane and fall.

But the fall didn't break me. I'm still alive. Standing up with my wings torn and mangled down, all the beauty seemingly gone from them, the feathers burnt and buried under dirt, feels terrible. It feels like everyday is a funeral for the mourning of a past life; one better and happier. It feels as though you look up in the sky and see the flocks of birds flying everywhere with their wings, laughing at you because you have broken them, while you have to force yourself to laugh with them. But although it feels like hell, I did it.

I got myself up again and I climbed back up to the tallest tree I could find, and I jumped. Again. But I did not fall; I kept levelled with the ground, slower than most (perhaps the slowest) but still in the air. And I can't tell you how that feels, to go through life while something is broken; something is not working. I can't tell you how it feels to laugh so hard you cry, when you use your laughter to hide your watery eyes from reality. I can't tell you how it feels to realize all the other birds keep on going, further and further, towards their food or eternal sky, while I'm stuck slowly making my way to the next tree where I can stop.

I have learned to fly with broken wings.

I don't know why I
Have this constant itch to express myself
When actually I'm unaware of
What exactly it is that
I want to *say

I will teach myself
to forget my name
and the names of many others
so that when Sunday comes
I'll be able to lay in peace
and remember who I am
without the world's influence
at play.
I lose myself
throughout each week
as each new person that I meet
pulls me apart
and places their judgments;
they only see light
but I remember the dark,
I like to let it come out and play,
the dark that made me most of
what I am today.
Everyone else is so afraid
to stick their fingers
in the holes inside my soul
that ooze the light.
Why is everyone so afraid
of the dark?

At the end of the day,
only you can make you happy.

You will come one day in a waver of love,
Tender as dew, impetuous as rain,
The tan of the sun will be on your skin,
The purr of the breeze in your murmuring speech,
You will pose with a hill-flower grace.

You will come, with your slim, expressive arms,
A poise of the head no sculptor has caught
And nuances spoken with shoulder and neck,
Your face in a pass-and-repass of moods
As many as skies in delicate change
Of cloud and blue and flimmering sun.

                    Yet,
You may not come, O girl of a dream,
We may but pass as the world goes by
And take from a look of eyes into eyes,
A film of hope and a memoried day.