It’s been over a week
Since you left
And when my friends ask
How I’ve been
I say
Like a splinter
Leaving my hand.

Though it’s gone
The soreness lingers on.

Letting them win,
all those who hurt you,
made you question yourself,
and put you down
isn't in the form of a wall.
Put your defenses up,
but remember to let it down
from time to time
for those who matter.

When their actions
freeze your heart through,
you turn as cold as they,
when you can't be content,
and happiness is all but a lie,
then that is
letting them win.

This is not a poem.
This is just a clichè story
About a girl.
A girl who always laugh.
Who always smile.
Who is always full of happiness.
About the same girl
Who also cry every night.
Who's broken inside.
Who always wanted to die.
This is just a clichè story.

This is not a poem.
This is a hidden plot
Of that girl
Living in a clichè story.
Where she enters to the house
Of unexpcted people
They tell nothing to her
That make her so unease
But someone says;
"It is okay to cry if wanted to"
So,
She cry. Cry. Cry. And cry
For the reason of nothing she is crying
They let her cry.
They let her tell her story.
They are just there.
Not just watching,
Not talking.
Not judging.
They are just there.
Not just watching.
Only listening
Only understanding.
They are the people
She always wanted to have.

This is not a poem.
This is just a clichè story,
Having a fake hidden plot—
Let's make it real.