You’re not a poet because you know those ‘fancy’ words
You’re a poet because every word you write comes straight from your heart

You’re not a poet because you feel alone
You’re a poet because pen and paper are your biggest companions

You’re not a poet because you understand emotions better
You’re a poet because you let them flow freely

You’re not a poet because people admire your work
You’re a poet because you write for your own contentment and not for people's consent

You are not a poet because you’ve failed in love
You’re a poet because you’ve been in love deeper than anyone else

You’re not a poet because you are strong
You’re a poet because you don’t hide your weaknesses

You’re not a poet because you can heal hearts
You’re a poet because you know what it means to be broken






              ©words of a withering soul

I faced the world at a young age,
I found those dearest to me to be complete strangers,
Society tried to cut me wings,
And when they grew back,
They burnt them,
And then left me injured alone,
To die,

I remember sitting alone in the dead of the night with my burnt wings,
Nothing but ashes surrounding me,
Scar tissue forming,
Blood falling,
Heavy breathing,
Screaming,
Pain,
So much pain,
It wouldn't stop,
I couldn't breathe,
I couldn't breathe no matter how hard I tried,
I tried to scream for help,
But no sound came,
It felt like I was drowning in my own tears,
Chest rising and falling,
Each breath felt as if it was the last,

But no I couldn't let them win,
Not like this,
They thought I was dead,
I was alive,
Barely,

I'm pretty sure death was sitting waiting for me to die,
But I was so stubborn,
I chose to stand,
No matter how bad it hurt,
I walked,
A trail of blood formed behind me,

My wings were gone,
But that wasn't going to stop me,
I built my own wings,
Built them out of gold,
So that no one could cut them again,
No one could burn them again,

My dreams are my own,
And I am never going to give up on them,
I look at the trail of blood,
That has long faded,
And it reminds me how strong I am,
And that your dreams are yours to achieve,
Don't believe a word they tell you,
How dare they try to cut your wings,
How dare they let their own get cut,

Let me leave you with this,
Fly darling,
Fly,
Reach for the highest sky,
And then space,

Your wings are your own,
And if you don't have them,
Build them,
No matter how long it takes

I layed myself out bare,
bracing for the sting of another open wound.
You only came with tools to mend,
a needle and thread.
With gentle hands,
you stiched together every hole in my heart with love.

The prayer from a distance
a fusion of illusions, a summit of delusion,
the lustrous tones binding hopes--dissolved.

The prayer from a distance
Again a vivid desire,
too uncouth to confront.
A rivalling mist searching
amidst,
many mouths' discerning noises,
looking for a crescent
to leap down,
to grasp
what is fading;
a solemn soul's core
of another's loving prayer.

When the heart's hurting,
their smile's comforting,
as they nurture from my giving
and remember this soul,relieving
me of my impending scars
and to recover what's ours.

New perfume in the air, sweeter than I normally like
the sweetness cannot erase the memory of that night.
Beer music bodies drink music night bodies music drink you
I can’t wear those clothes anymore, not the perfume, not the makeup.
I want to forget it all, the slideshow that starts playing on repeat.
I want to feel something, I feel numb.

I want to cut, rid my skin of your memory and replace it with my own
I want to stop eating, until the starvation clears me out, makes me new
I want to eat everything, so I feel some semblance of full.
I want to do something to forget that time with you.

Eyes follow me in the street, they’re not yours, but my body doesn’t care
heart quickens, breath shakes, I am afraid.
Anger replaces fear, bottled up until I just want to scream
LEAVE ME ALONE
I walk to the school, to the market, and I don’t dress up for you

My homework sits out but I can’t do it today, maybe tomorrow,
I said that yesterday but the numbness won’t go away,
I feel detached, uncaring.
I need to cry, to break things, to heal and yet I’m stuck in this chair,
this one room.
I feel dead inside, remind myself to eat, to drink water, to sleep, to move.
Sweet perfumes lingers in the air, begging me to start over, to forget, to walk away.
But with it on, I still think of you.

An overwhelmed heart bursts
Not with a splash of blood
But with a trickle of tears