With shaking hands and an unsure pen, she writes her definition of "I'm fine" as syllables in lines, repeated rhymes, with titles.
Someday when somebody finally asked her, "If that's what fine is, what is broken?"
She said, "Broken is the laughter at jokes that all your friends think are hilarious but you don't quite understand what's funny. Broken is dressing for November in the middle of June because you're afraid someone will see that you're not as perfect as everybody thinks. Broken is the brightest smile."
Despite the deluge of encouragement from a loving fiancé, the mirror still screams "ugly" when she looks at it. Her wrists whisper things like, "give up" and "you're not strong enough." She tells herself not to entertain these thoughts like guests in a welcoming home, because if she does, they might stay.

Well, she did. And so they did.

Like an overwhelming wave, a tsunami of pain. It crashed into her like the faltering smile that stung straight to the core. A selfish menace craving more and more. She couldn't quite place her finger on the map to point out where she had gone wrong but she knew she must have because the nights were so long; oh, how cold and unforgiving they were. She was alone. And lonely she felt. When the searing heartache became too much to bear, still she screamed but of course, no one was around to hear her. So she traced her paths with unsteady fingertips, recollecting the familiarity of stolen kisses from chapped lips.

She's tried to forget.

But closed eyes can't disguise the disgust she feels at the memory of her thighs under your palms. I was the puppet in your theatrical games, taking orders. Enter stage right, the light descending as I feel I might fall. I am not your doll. Pink cheeks of blush the shade of the roses you crushed in your selfish, malicious hands. I won't memorize your demands, highlighting them and reading them to myself over and
over
and over

again.

Center stage, I clear my throat to speak my monologue.

My eyes graze the script I carefully printed on paper with as many wrinkles and rips that you left on my heart the night you told me I wasn't good enough. I counted the times you've said that you couldn't love and it took a long time to decifer that what you really meant, was that you couldn't love me.

87 times.

87 times I said I was sorry. Maybe I meant it or maybe I was desperate for some kind of sign that I wasn't as worthless as you implied. Maybe I was hopeful that when you said you would leave, you lied. I thought of all the nights I layed awake and cried for you. With so much at stake I risked my dignity to lay down my pride. I braved the storm when I had the option to hide. And although I can't recall who was to blame for that fight, I remember I was the one who said "I love you" and you were the one who took flight.

Left me for dead with two broken wings, singing the words that you said until they became a melody of all the terrible things with a harmony to sugarcoat them and make it sound sweet. They say don't play with fire but I was intrigued by the spark, until the heat burned my soul out and left me cold in the dark. A tragedy not three pages long, now ends on the bitter refrain of the song.

She's tried to forget.

Her jaw creaks as it tightens in remorse. With silence as her monologue; the recoil from the dialogue of two lovers then friends, this story ends in act one scene one.
The beginning, the finale, she exits stage left and you'll see the crowd gasp in awe.
And where there should be an epilogue, the curtains will draw.

-k.d.

This is not a depression poem,
This is not a cry for help,
This is me trying to be the best of my ability..for you.
You alway stuttered when you said my name.
You always picked at your collar and mumbled sweet words that I could never decifer.
You whistled in the park the day you opened yourself up for your own sake, and I cried.
This isn't a depressing poem this is me trying to the best of my ability to fix you.
You had to go in april to the place over the hill, where white walls flood and doors don't close. And I whistled for you to come home to me. Because I never wanted it to end like this.
This isn't a depressing poem this is me trying to pick myself up.
You said you didn't want to be my friend anymore, and explained you didn't know why, but that day I cried hard enough I swear god could hear me.
This isn't a depressing poem this is me explaining how much I needed you.

You're the most confusing boy i've ever met. I can't decifer your feeling's torwards me or what is going on inside your awe inspiring mind. I dream about knowing you like the constellations of dots along my skin . I dream of pressing my lips against yours and pulling the air out of your lungs at lightning speed . You make my palms sweaty in the most amazing way. Now kiss me like your life depends on it.

His thoughts,
Once heard by his mind.

Love of his words
Deepen with every thought

His words,
Once spoke from his tongue.
Surface into belief

Ears decifer how the message is received
Usually causing defensive language in return

Words of daggers thrown to ****
To stop the message
For his blood to spill

Now his tongue tries to heal the wounds on his scarred soul.
To heal the wounds of a heart.

If I think loud enough,
maybe the screaming hysterical silence,
Will ease just enough to decifer at least one
Splinter of useful knowledge or gain

Your name is hot when I scribble it amongst the paper, like my passion burning for you.

Your name is heavy when I speak it, like how heavy my eyelids get after I stayed at your house, and left that next morning with a lack of sleep... So I could be with you.

Your name is one of many, but I can easily pick it out.
But unlike how I can pick you out from a crowd, Or how I could once decifer your feelings for me, I can't anymore.

I have only memories to remember,
Things have really changed since last December.

CALL:
Alone in this lofty and deserted place,
Have I patiently and eagerly waited.
Among men each day have I search your face;
Each time have I been disappointed.
Your absence seems to me a punishment;
Your presence I longed for my relieve.

RESPONSE:
"Distance" they always say,
"Make the heart grow fonder."
I know the feeling; got me thinking all day,
How committed we are, even than a lover
But I pray thee, thou shoud tarry a little while
Still have lots of cooking to do

CALL:
What's all these appearing?
Not too nice to hear.
Thy absence is due to cooking?
How sour it sound in the ear.
Should cooking be element to neglect,
And seeing a sister as garbage?

RESPONSE:
Oh! My intent you wrongly explain.
Food preserve the skin from dying;
A waste effort much to my disdain.
My 'FOOD' let lives keep living.
Poetic words like the spiritual,
Very obscure; especially to the carnal.

CALL:
The life clock is ticking so fast,
Trivially the time is still.
And now we are older than the past,
Boom! Death caught us neglecting our will.
I pray thee: bargain not with death;
Because being nature, none can cheat.

RESPONSE:
Like crossword puzzle, can't decifer your line.
Send my memory into an endless journey.
I pray death absence when I dine
Till I reveal the mystery of misery
Knows clock ticks, time's still and death's sure,
My destiny I fulfill; my mission will I complete.

CALL:
Words making the dead jealous
Envious of we yet living
Life's good; Alas! Each steps is dangerous
Only the determined keep on going
But tell me, what Keep you floating?

RESPONSE:
"And I shall fly high
Not that I won't die
But before the die be cast
I would have been above the sky"
My ink is almost dry
Yet, I've got many things to write
But to put things alright,
Am now around: can we see tonight?