Alex 4h

friable alabaster bones huddle
in rugose rose wrapping,
words hanging pendulously in the air,
and I think this is where we fell in love –
somewhere in the Gehenna between
how-do-you-do and nice-to-meet-you
the moon thawed and
into the crescents your fingernails left me with.

the daggers in your smile terrify me but self-preservation isn't in my repertoire

i do not wear
heartbreak well.

i dress it
in plaid skirts
and loose shirts
cheap make-up.

i keep it
hidden in between
the pages
of a horror story
that you showed
abhorrence for.

i write it
in forms of sonnets
that overcome the
acrimonious ways
your words found themselves
tangled with mine.

i say it
in jumbled thoughts
and incoherent murmurs
that clouds memories
of warmth and sunlight.

does not suit me.

but i am heartbreak's agenda.

It's a tragedy

You gaze into green eyes
Upon curves and stretch marks,
Onto a battlefield of scars,

Weilding two calloused hands,
A pair of average ears
All topped off with a crooked smile

A person you've liked, loved
Stares back from the blunt glass mirror
That person, you, is me.  

It's a tragedy

Watching the world wake up
when I want sleep
is the strongest I feel sorrow's grip.
The persistent darkness will follow me long after that bright day comes and the sun peaks.

AD Sifford Apr 2015

So there's this girl...

And her name is Misery.

My heart was boxed
I had hid the key
Until the lock she picked
granted entry

Her hands were warm
When they grabbed my heart
But when she released,
The thing fell apart

I found some pieces,
Bound them all
My love looked away,
With no care at all

So here I am,
Still gathering pieces
Red, ripped, and torn,
Please hold them, Jesus

All it takes
Is the thought of her
To see her smile
Through teary blur
To hear her voice,
So sweet and warm,
Throws me right back out
Into the raging storm
Of thundering pain,
And pouring tears
O, if love can die,
It must take years

So here I am,
Still scrambling for shreds
Of my cold, beating heart,
Torn, bloody, and red

But I know there's a Mender
That will stitch every thread
Of my heart back to whole
For I trust what God said
I'll wait for a Mender
Who'll bring peace to my soul
At God's nod, she'll come fill this
Jagged, gaping black hole

In time, He'll send a Mender
Who will heal every wound
She will mend with a smile
That's as bright as the moon
In time, He'll send a Mender
To repair every seam
When I gaze into her eyes
I will witness Heaven's gleam

|Written November 29, 2011 or sooner|

In the summer of 2011, when I was 16, almost 17, I fell in love with a girl who broke my heart. Deep pain lasted for years. During the time I wrote this poem, I believed I could hear the voice of God. "Inspired" poetry directly from the real-time flow of emotions was something I interpreted as Him communicating with me. Through some feeling or thought during prayer prior to these events, I believed God had promised me a wife, a soul mate whom I have always longed & hoped for. I believed that even though I'd fallen for this girl in a deeper way than I ever have for anyone else, God would send someone else who was a more perfect match, and in the end my wounds would be healed, while I likewise healed my soul mate's, and a Job-style happy ending would take place. I wrote this poem in faith of that perceived promise.

Stanza 4 originally read differently. I don't remember exactly how it went, but after

*So here I am,
Still gathering pieces*

there were lines saying my heart was

* Reese's
Peanut butter cups
That have been squeezed too much*

This partially related to the fact that the common mispronunciation of "Reese's" candy has always bugged me, and through rhyming with "pieces" I may cause the reader to utter the correct pronunciation. Alas!
Upon reading my poem, my Mom told me that the image of melting chocolate in the hands was too light, and contrasted in an almost silly way with the relatively dark and sorrowful tone of the rest of the poem. I looked over it and agreed, ultimately shortening that stanza and changing the final lines to

*Red, ripped, and torn,
Please hold them, Jesus*

which I liked better.

More recently, when approaching this poem to add onto here, I noticed that, in accordance with my Mom's evaluation, stanza 3 could also use a change for the same reason. The second line therein originally read,

*Glued them all*

and so I recently had it in my mind to change it, too. I ended up changing it upon posting it here now, to

*Bound them all*

Which also holds imagery of guarding my heart from others, while especially illustrating the result keeping my heart in a state of locked, or bound attachment to, and longing for her specifically, and my long-held hope that I could still have a chance with her some day. Unable to move on and not wanting to, I bound my heart to her for too long. I still have difficulty with letting go of my desire for here completely, and my sorrowful longing, even now, nearly four years later.

© 2017 A.D. Sifford.
I'm okay with you sharing my poems, but I ask that you show courtesy. Please be honest about the authorship by attributing it to my name. Thank you,
- Sifford

You never think it is going to happen to you
Until you hear of a letter from the sheriff’s department,
And the quiet guy in your econ class no longer shows up to school.

You never think it would happen to them
Until you’re laughing over coffee
And someone mentions the events of last friday
And how the police were called in

You never think it would happen to her
Until she’s making jokes about it
But could have been gone forever
May the circumstances had changed

And you laugh along,

But the moment the talking stops,
The smiles fade,
You’ll come to the halting realization

You never think

Today I woke up broken
I hung my head and cried to God
because I know He sees beyond this fog.

The calm, the peace - it doesn't sink in until after these words take root in my heart:

Broken is not always a bad thing. Broken is just the stage between better and best.

Through broken soil plants grow to sustain this world.
Broken allows life to grow.
A break in the clouds sends light to those who miss the sun.
Broken allows room for more.

I let this small prayer carry me always:
That I will remember
that it is a beautiful thing
when life goes

singing meadowlark
that never seems
to touch the ground
i was searching endlessly
for the fire escape
i never found

i was hardly reaching
when i said you loved me
on your behalf
i was hardly dreaming
of a sweeter day
still yet to pass

piano in the dark
mystic chord
i froze and woke in tandem
with the underscore

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