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samantha-leroyPoems
It’s been a year And I still don’t know how to feel. Sometimes I feel elated. Out of all the girls, All the plums, I was the ripest, the juiciest. I spread across his tongue As a smile spread across his lips. Sometimes I feel empty. Like he had Taken away a part of me. A certain innocence So rare, so valuable, so hidden Not even the best criminals Could steal it back. Sometimes I feel fragile. My bones replaced by porcelain. They forgot to wrap me In bubblewrap. They forgot the Handle with care sign. I shattered at his feet. I crunched under his boots. Sometimes I feel depressed. Any light I had Has darkened. Any fire has Been snuffed out. I am nothing more than smoke. Sometimes I feel tired. Like it takes too much energy to live. I’m not strong enough To live. To push through. My organs are too heavy. I am too heavy. Sometimes I feel happy. When I forget about that night. When I forget about the bedroom floor. The popcorn bowl. The army of whispers Assaulting my ears. When I’m alone with a book Full of poems. When I shed this skin, The one with burn marks and Moth holes, I’m happy.
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Mar 29, 2014
Mar 29, 2014 at 2:33 PM UTC
Forgetting How to Feel
It’s been a year And I still don’t know how to feel. Sometimes I feel elated. Out of all the girls, All the plums, I was the ripest, the juiciest. I spread across his tongue As a smile spread across his lips. Sometimes I feel empty. Like he had Taken away a part of me. A certain innocence So rare, so valuable, so hidden Not even the best criminals Could steal it back. Sometimes I feel fragile. My bones replaced by porcelain. They forgot to wrap me In bubblewrap. They forgot the Handle with care sign. I shattered at his feet. I crunched under his boots. Sometimes I feel depressed. Any light I had Has darkened. Any fire has Been snuffed out. I am nothing more than smoke. Sometimes I feel tired. Like it takes too much energy to live. I’m not strong enough To live. To push through. My organs are too heavy. I am too heavy. Sometimes I feel happy. When I forget about that night. When I forget about the bedroom floor. The popcorn bowl. The army of whispers Assaulting my ears. When I’m alone with a book Full of poems. When I shed this skin, The one with burn marks and Moth holes, I’m happy.
samantha-leroy
Written by
samantha-leroy
American
Mar 29, 2014
Mar 29, 2014 at 2:33 PM UTC
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