I wrapped my heart in paper
And carried it home today
It was bleeding—
I tried to stop

It was broken—
I tried a fix to
hold it whole
But nothing could
I tried to put it back
And found no soul

I wrapped it again
In the same worn paper
And left it
out to freeze

A gentle gaze found it
Didn't try to mend it
Just stayed with it to heal

As time went by
The bleeding ceased
And cracks closed
A warmth held it all together
What began with a broken heart bouquet
Now looks
beautiful.

(To the one that never healed)

Worn; Torn;
Tortured.—
Lies in the depths
only the soul
can reach;—
You never
revealed.
Would a few gentle
words, wrapped
in a dozen of
chocolate petals,
heal you?
Tell me;
Am I right,
this time?

You wanna know what happened?
You see these scars?
Yeah, that’s me.
But you’re too scared to get close.
I can tell by the way your eyes flicker,
like you’re afraid I might break.
Spoiler alert:
I’m already broken.

They ask, “what’s happened?”
Like they want the story.
Like they care.

”Tried to take myself out.”
It’s not a sob story,
it’s a fact.
But they don’t get it,
don’t want to get it,
so I shrug it off,
say it casual,
like I'm talking about the weather.
Like I’m still not choking on the air in this room.

The other students?
They avoid me like I’m radioactive,
walk wide around my desk
like I’m a virus,
like my grief is something that can infect them.
And maybe it can,
but no one’s brave enough
to catch it.

Teachers?
They say, “are you okay?”
In that soft voice
like they’re trying to piece together
a jigsaw puzzle with no picture.
They look at me,
wait for me to cry,
wait for me to say something,
that makes it all make sense
but I’m not here for their comfort.
I just want them to stop acting like this is some mystery.
You can’t fix me with a question.

And my therapist?
Oh, she’s a real piece of work.
Digging, digging,
like there’s some treasure under all this rubble.
She keeps telling me,
”Let’s unpack that.”
Like I’m luggage.
Like I’m just some suitcase of sadness
that’ll be lighter if I open it up enough.
But it’s endless,
layers and layers of pain
and the more I peel back,
the more I realise
there’s no clean way to fix it.

I tell her what I think she wants to hear.
I say it,
because I’m tired of hearing myself say nothing.
But she’s not listening.
No one’s listening.

You wanna know what happened?
This is me.
This is what happened when you’re tired of waiting for someone to see you.
Tired of asking for help.
Tired of hoping the world will stop pretending you don’t exist.

Yeah, I tried.
Yeah, it didn’t work.
And that’s the punchline.
I’m still here.

But don’t worry.
You can keep avoiding me.
I don’t need your pity.
I don’t need your worried looks.
I’m fine.
I’m fine.
I’m fine.

And I’ll keep saying that
until it feels true.
Until I can believe it for myself.
Or until I can’t anymore.

But for now?
For now, I’m just the girl
with the scars on her arms,
and I’m here.
And that’s the part
you can’t ignore.

our clothes,
our tattered clothes
are torn up and frayed,
unsightly and stained
the bindings are strained,
they fit no longer
the hemming gave 'way,
they hold no longer

our feet,
our blistered feet
are cut up, in pain,
aching, inflamed
their will's been bent,
they heave no longer
their life's been spent,
they move no longer

our hearts,
our hollowed hearts
are battered and bruised,
worn out and used
all has been drained,
they bleed no longer
their thumping has waned,
they beat no longer

our hopes,
our shattered hopes
are blackened and greyed,
broken, dismayed
all has been lost,
we hope no longer
we're wont to last,
we yearn no longer

our souls,
our flustered souls
are darkened and swayed,
lost and derailed
their glow's been dulled,
they shine no longer
their flow's been culled,
they live no longer

our hands,
our calloused hands,
tho' wounded and gashed,
hardened and bashed
are all we have to show at the end of the day...