Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Sep 2016
I held my breath just right
trying to figure out if I'm alive
until everything faded, just darkness
because your words
will only ever remain the harshest
and I'm forever reminded of you...
how you made me skip school
because I could tolerate dodgeballs
and projectile rocks...
...After all they are merely skin deep bruises
And the hatred produces
nothing but swelled bones and broken muscles
till everything was a struggle
But they are merely skin deep bruises...
It was not the dodgeballs that sent me crying
it was not the rock hurling that sent me home early
it was the poisonous ravenous tongue
that slithered on lies like it was at a skateboard rink
trying to drink the life and soul out of anything alive.
So you sent your fake condolences, your pity parties
made something 'arty' pretending that you were a friend
yet a fiend coated in a cloak of condescension
you've mentioned death by my ears enticing my every step
hoping that I fall to wreck and fail to ever stand tall, *****,
to be a pawn in your hands, your master plan
just holding back the tears as my palms push away
all your damaging words pretending that they never hurt.
I spent years and years rephrasing, repeating, remembering
'talk to the hand because the man isn't listening'
but the tears glisten in my eye sockets and though I
can convince myself I wasn't listening, I guess
I couldn't convince myself just enough...

You tore at me till there was nothing to tear at,
you prayed and preyed that I bit the dust,
hoping that there was nothing of me left,
and so...
I held my breath just right
trying to figure out if I'm alive...
because in that brief moment the only way to escape
was to remind you that 'there's nothing left,
you can't **** me today, or tomorrow,
because I have been nothing but dead'.

I held my breath just right
trying to figure out if I'm alive...
Turns out I did survive
And as I finish up this write,
I'd like to remind you
that you are all beautiful,
that you can survive
in the ways that I have
because the gentle touch of a rain
never cleanses the wounds
nor numbs the aching pain,
it merely reminds you
that there's another sunny day.
Star Gazer
Written by
Star Gazer
823
   Keith Wilson
Please log in to view and add comments on poems