Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Mar 2012 · 1.1k
There Is No Escape
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
Feb 2012 · 963
Wicked Little Girls
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
Feb 2012 · 4.2k
The Innocence of Youth
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
Feb 2012 · 1.4k
Dearest Dad...
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
Feb 2012 · 4.0k
Secret Admirer
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
Feb 2012 · 678
My Heart in Haikus
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?
Feb 2012 · 858
Missing You
Sarah Riordan Feb 2012
Friends and family come together
There is strength in numbers and we are strong
I am a rock for my sister and mother to lean on
I miss you

I talk to people
They say it isn’t good to keep things bottled up
Let the tears flow into the cold night with arms wrapped around me
And I miss you

Schoolwork has to get done
Somehow I remember chemistry and history in the midst of chaos
I solve equations and analyze poetry
Still I miss you

Back to the normal busy schedule
Waking up before the sun to prepare for a tough day
Walk down the hallway to my locker
Oh how I miss you

Playing cello for the musical
Shoulders aching, but harmonizing well
I finally pack up my instrument for the day
Realize I miss you

Go over a friend’s house
I can’t help but smile at the surprise party my friends have put together
I turn into a five year old again playing on floors of lava and inhaling helium
But I miss you

Tuck myself into bed at night
I hope that tomorrow will be a good day and pray for sweet dreams
I slowly drift off to sleep with tears rolling down my cheeks
I will always miss you
I wrote this poem about a week after my dad committed suicide
Feb 2012 · 669
Taking Inventory
Sarah Riordan Feb 2012
Wake up in the morning

Discover a bruise under my collarbone
Over my heart
The result of a shove away from you
Out of your space

Walking upstairs reveals sore thighs
Thinking they must be from your leg between mine
When I tried to catch my balance by holding on to you
But I fell anyway

Come across black and blue knees in the shower
From struggling on the floor
And bumping into things
Clumsy as I try to navigate around you

Find scratches across my fingers while I write
Blood beading on my dry skin
Battle wounds from combat
Requiring cleaning and healing

Go to sleep at night
Happy with the physical injuries
That hurt so much less than the ones in my heart
Sarah Riordan Feb 2012
You’re special, but not much more than most.
You just happened to be in the right place at the right time.
I poured my heart out to you and leaned on your strong shoulders,
Even while you took advantage of my pain and asked for things you shouldn’t have.
We go through a cycle of me leaving you,
Going through withdrawal and finding other people to be my pillars.
But then you come in with kind words and gestures and I melt all over again,
Crumbling into your embrace.
My heart seems to constantly be full of pain to the point of overflowing,
But I always manage to widen it and make room for you.
Love is a tricky emotion and is as finicky as water,
Changing phases under different pressure and temperatures.
And yet I can honestly say that I have and do love you,
With your rough exterior and warm words that heat me up from the inside out.
Just like everything else in the world, there is an equal and opposite reaction to this love.
A hate that burns so hot that it can evaporate my stomach and dissolve me into tears.
I could easily be described as a responsible, intelligent, levelheaded girl,
The one all the parents used to hope would rub off on their children like fairy dust.
But this Tinkerbell turns into Dumbo when you show affection,
And misplaces her brain in the depths of her passion.
I offer myself up to you time and time again like a painstakingly prepared meal,
But you devour me, and spit me back out to move onto another feast.
Your words, which have kept me sane, can drive me to insanity.
I spend days, weeks, months analyzing the phrase, “I’m actually looking for a girlfriend now”.
I’d love to know what your qualifications for a girlfriend are because I must have met them once.
Has the bar been raised, do you think, “been there done that”, or are there just better options?
We always reconnect when gravity shifts and my world comes crashing down on me,
But I can’t help but feel it’s unhealthy for both of us if I rely on you excessively.
I don’t want to become the next girl who puts you into a depressed funk,
Ruining memories of a holiday for you along with any chance of a relationship.
But how do you expect me to act when the attention from you that I crave
Is only rewarded when I’m spiraling out of control, or just downward?
How upset do I need to be for you to give me a smile, comforting words, a hug?
How hopeless do I need to be for you to understand that I’m barely holding myself together?
And why do my thoughts and feet carry me to you whenever I find myself back in a dark place?
I mean you’re special, but not much more than most.
I guess you just happened to be in the right place at the right time.
Feb 2012 · 895
The Seasons of Mary
Sarah Riordan Feb 2012
Spring.
Tulips bloom and our crape myrtle grows,
Along with our hope
For a more promising year

Summer.
Seizures rock our world.
Emanating like earthquakes
From the fault lines of her brain

Autumn.
Leaves shrivel and drop
Just like she does when she loses her balance,
And falls to the ground.

Winter.
Cold winds and dark thoughts give me dry skin.
A red rash that is a physical embodiment of the irritation
Seething beneath my pale complexion.
Just some background so this poem makes more sense. My mom had a stroke a few years ago as a result of cancer. So this poem is about her

— The End —