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Sarah Riordan Mar 2012
You cover your ears with your small, yet strong, hands,
But still hear her heartbreaking cries

You seal your eyes shut to block out the black shadows,
But still in the darkness you lie

You stuff up your nose so you can’t smell the blood,
But just downstairs the copper smell lingers

You cover up skin; form a shield for yourself,
But can still sense the fear in your fingers

You hold it all in, can survive being numb,
Never give in our let out a scream

Life begins to seem normal, teach yourself to forget,
Until you re-enter your dreams
Sarah Riordan Feb 2012
Rumors grow like tumors
Lies get spread so easily
While they're caught up in the humor,
She cries tears that they don't see
Critically people assume, her
Image shattered for their glee
Never knowing they would doom her;

Life reduced to tragedy
Luckily, with this poem, I'm not writing from personal experience
Sarah Riordan Feb 2012
Where the grapes you eat are red and green
But the ones you draw are purple

Where you love your parents with all of your heart
But pretend you’re an orphan when you play with friends

Where the monsters that lurk in closets and under beds
Can be destroyed by the light of day

Where a stinging, aching cut or bruise
Can be healed by a kiss

Where a girl can transform into a fairy princess
By slipping on a voluminous pink tutu

Where a boy becomes a conquering hero
By arming himself with an intimidating roll of wrapping paper

Where a slightly unkempt yard
Becomes a jungle full of tigers and serpents

Where an in ground pool
Becomes an ocean whose depths must be explored

Where winter
Is a season for snowmen and presents

Where summer
Is a season for ice cream and beaches

Where Mommy
Is the best chef, nurse, and storyteller

Where Daddy
Is the great protector, hug giver, and handyman

Where science has no bearing
Because rainbows and lightning come from magic

Where logic doesn’t make sense
Because the powers of love and fantasy are illogical

And there is no place for suffering
Because pain is overshadowed by innocence
Sarah Riordan Feb 2012
I’ve been told to communicate with you through dreams through prayer through wishes
But I thought I’d write you a letter instead
Do they receive letters in heaven? Or hell?
After all, you chose to commit suicide. Such an ugly word; one I can’t seem to say anymore

And it was your decision to leave
To leave the stress the responsibility the pain
And I could understand all of that if not for one thing;
You left me

The man so paranoid about my safety
You locked everything and once armed me with expired pepper spray rather than leave me weaponless
But now you’ve left me unprotected
An easy target for anyone wishing to throw darts or shoot a gun

Speaking of guns
Where’d you get that shotgun and where did you hide it?
Such a messy and grisly weapon of choice
For the man with the perfectly coifed hair and the immaculate shirts and sweater vests

I got my driver’s license
And now, everywhere I drive, your voice echoes suggestions in my head
And I remember you saying so recently that you couldn’t wait to teach me how to drive in snow
Why would you say that?

And why did you end everything so close to my birthday?
Was the goal to see me turn seventeen because that meant I was old enough to handle your death?
Because being 17 years and 6 days old still wasn’t old enough to handle what I dealt with
It wasn’t old enough to see you lying there

People say you didn’t mean to hurt me
You never meant for me to be the one to find you
But who else was going to do it?
I mean you must have thought of that

But I don’t want you thinking I was your perfect unblemished daughter before this
I’ve made out with a boy I’ve drank alcohol I’ve sexted
If you even know what that means
Plus, I’ve been dealing with Mom’s cancer for a number of years now

Speaking of which, I don’t know if you’ve heard
But Mom’s cancer is back and she’***** the jackpot this time
It’s in her pancreas and she hasn’t got very long to live, so maybe you’ll see her soon
That is, if you are in heaven

And that brings us to the question doesn’t it: why couldn’t you have waited?
Waited for me to get my license for Kristen’s Sweet 16 for my graduation
Was life really that unbearably bleak that you couldn’t have lasted one more month?
Because I’m lasting

Even though now life seems like a cruel joke
An unfair game where things get taken away with no notice and for no reason
And that childhood pastime Kristen and I had of pretending to be orphans
Doesn’t seem so fun anymore

I can’t make wishes anymore either
Because the things I truly want to wish for with all of my heart can’t come true
***** the Disney princesses because even a thousand eyelash wishes couldn’t bring back
Just one of your deep belly laughs to wake me up in the morning

And I know this wasn’t your intention, at least I hope it wasn’t,
But you’ve left me feeling kind of worthless
Because I wasn’t worth saying goodbye to or writing a letter for
I wasn’t worth holding onto

And ever since you’ve left, Dad, I’ve felt empty
And all of that empty space must be filled with tears because I constantly feel like crying
All I want is for you to hold me, just for a minute,
But you can’t always get what you want, right?

I guess the emptiness makes sense
Even if it’s sometimes a paradoxical emptiness because I’ve been suffocating ever since
I opened that door
And fell into the abyss
Not really a poem, but it felt so good to write
Sarah Riordan Feb 2012
Red is the color of embarrassment. Having to explain why my mom can’t drive or make dinner or walk alone.
Orange is the color and smell of fake tan lotion. A substitute for sunlight, and its harmful ultraviolet rays.
Yellow is the color of the sun itself. The reason for life on Earth, but also my constant frustration.
Green is the color of her garden. Still managing to grow and flourish by her hand as she withers and breaks down.
Blue is the color of my eyes. From which tears flow, but only in private. Replicas of my dad’s, which house pain and anger.
Purple is the color of bruises caused by absentmindedly colliding hips and shins with corners. Benign internal bleeding.
White is the color of the pages in books. A cheaper and healthier alternative to drugs.
A carefully crafted escape.
Black is the color of night. Where dreams so easily converge with nightmares and the mind tries to make sense of what happened today,
And what will inevitably recur tomorrow.
I wrote this poem a while ago
Sarah Riordan Feb 2012
Delicate daisies ripped from the earth to create a beautiful bouquet.
An anonymous arrangement with no note; a wordless         love letter.
A  minor mystery is formed that sparks interest as people speak in         wondering whispers
Trivial time in the day elongates stretching into ongoing hours
Subtly searching the faces of boys, young men with hearts and hormones
Who hope for love and romance, too embarrassed to admit their           “feminine” fantasies
The sun sleeps,          the moon comes out, and I put the daisies in a vase    smelling their sweetness
A lamp lights        the room as I change clothes, removing the shirt that matches the     fragrant flowers
I slip off to sleep           as a fan whirs, my breathing slows, and worries turn into           deep dreams
I imagine a face, a person, to go along with those delicate daisies


My anonymous admirer
Sarah Riordan Feb 2012
Crushed by boys and men
Weathered away by cancer
Ripped open by death

Still it keeps beating
Seemingly impossible
With all of it’s wounds

A pulsing rhythm
Punctuated by sharp pains
Understandable

What keeps me living
Sometimes I wish it wouldn’t
But I have no say

So I stay alive
Feeling blood pump through my veins
And yet I wonder

Oh how can that be?
How can my heart support me
When it is broken?
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