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Artists are often
broken people
using the fragments of themselves
to create something new
and although
being healed
feels so complete
sometimes i want to be broken again
sometimes i want open wounds
so i can use the blood
to paint sunsets
so i can use the torn off pieces of skin as a canvas
so i can carve
masterpieces with the jagged bones left behind
but I can't bring myself to break my own heart in the name of Art
I build a spiderweb of
faces and get tangled
in the names
my mind is a library
of dusty shelves and one
visitor who lives
but never leaves
please don’t ask me
if I have your social security number too
I don’t and it’s not
very funny to me
to be locked in a cage
of everything
that the world forgets
I’m not stalking you
I am simply being observant
because sometimes if you stop talking
you can listen to the
world around you
I am the one who listens
in a loud and overbearing world
and this web of names
keeps spinning
obscuring it all
until you forget me
even faster than you forgot me
A poem written about my mind’s affinity for names, written on a post-it in a time of great procrastination.
Madeline Thetard Dec 2018
I like to hand the world words on a silver platter
Sauté them with gusto and a shake of sugar
Feed them to strangers and watch their faces
To register any sign of delight or disgust

They commend me on my service
As I fill their wine glasses until they’re
Tipsy from the poetry
Savoring every sip and swallow
Like the linguist who speaks solely at midnight

But they try to catch me playful
And they try to throw me smiles
Unknowing that the poet only writes
Behind closed doors
In some nook or crevice there is a key
I threw away long ago
Right after I locked up my heart and soul
And took up a pen in my hand

They say to write what’s inside
But I’m sorry if I cannot read you a poem
While looking in your eyes
For there is far too much empathy
To make me feel safe

Maybe if the critics wrote me harsh reviews often
Maybe if I spilled the words onto my palms
And washed them all off with tears
I could let the world in
Instead of bussing tables shielded by
The windows of the soul

I like to hand the world words on a silver platter
But no one ever gets to see the face who makes them
Madeline Thetard Nov 2018
A pure whiteness settles over the land
I take the first step into the clean infinity
Disruption of the beauty creates
disharmony within my mind
but the expanse of the snow beckons
with frosty fingers and the kiss
of long-forgotten warmth

I pull my coat closer around me
and snowflakes of the most
intricate details all know their place
amidst the frozen tears of clouds
I walk in circles and get to nowhere
as the snow consumes the path ahead
and the tracks I've left behind

If these wintry eaves can shield me
from the brashness of the snow
so be it
I set upon a patch of snow
I am covered in the pristine flurry
until I am almost gone
  Sep 2018 Madeline Thetard
These words
These words
That will
Never be
He will never see
This agony
These words
These **** words
They just hurt
And hurt
Aching inside my soul
I wish they were meaningless
I wish I could let them go
These words
That will
Never be
You will never know
How much they hurt me
All you see
Is the Monster.
The Hate.
these words

They are
Empty fate
This poem really hits home to me. I have someone close to me who I have so much to say to them, but I’m too afraid. He has hurt me so much and I’m afraid to be vulnerable. This poem is not only about pain and hurt, but it’s about saying how you feel. Even if it’s justbwriting them down.
When suddenly life feels bleak
And memories and hopes start to leak
I can't help but wonder
What would happen until I go under

Would I get my happily ever after?
Would I get to hear her tinkling laughter?
Would someone go that extra mile
Just to make me smile?

If I wanted to share my fears
Would someone lend an ear?
A little insecure
Humour is my shield
When I feel like hiding
I wield rather than yield

My friend wrote a poem for me
That moved me to tears
I'll keep it safe
And treasure it for years

I'm a hoarder by nature
Cause I worry for the future
What if one morning
Memories start to get misty without warning
Now that I'm on this airship
Have to take precautions so I don't slip

Riches never really tempted me
It's the memories that matter
A gold pouch or a photograph?
I'd choose the latter

I want to leave a mark
Like Noah's Arc
Something to remember me by
I hope people don't call me 'that guy'

My parents' love I can't forget
Especially my mother's
I wouldn't be the person I am
If it wasn't for her

If I die
And don't get to say goodbye
Would my loved ones weep?
Would my memories in their heart keep?

I fear
That people would cheer
After all,
Who even wanted me here?

I wonder who will stay by my side
Till I'm old enough for dentures
But to those who do stay
Thank you for this adventure
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