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Lily Sep 2018
There are scars on my
Body that I will never
Know where they came from.

There are tearstains on
My pillow I don’t even
Notice anymore.

I’m told I need help
But I don’t even realize
That I am broken.
Don't worry, this is not about me.  Just a thought to all those who are struggling.
Kayla Ann Jul 2014
Tearstains unlock doors
You reach out in darkness and
Ask for me to come inside

We sit in the space in your soul for
Hours pouring out our hearts
Until the light peeks through the
Crack under the door

Stepping out you dance away
Into daybreak without farewell
Leaving me in an empty shell

My poured out heart is
A puddle on the floor that
You didn't embrace the way I did

I might see you again
When it gets dark
And you recall
Just how miserable
Seclusion is

Welcome back
I've been lonely
Kate Lion Jan 2013
I can’t stand that I can’t understand
Why my heart heaved its contents into your content hands,
Tearstains dripping through my fingers as we [danced].
I remember the days I’d [collapse] in crowded streets,
Because my heart would [skip] too many beats.
Then you’d [spin me], kiss my cheeks and whisper
Something sweet about my [feet’s] defeat.
But I knew then that I couldn’t [keep rhythm],
So I must’ve suffered from heart failure.

And once you left in October, and my soul was sober
Not drunk on my tears,
I would wonder what could’ve persuaded you to stay,
But once my heart attempted a [pirouette]
I no longer questioned my place.
.. I don’t know if you watched after that,
But I’m sure you saw the {snowprints} I’d leave in your yard,
My only way of telling you that I hated being my own {saving grace},
Because a {fallen angel} drops too hard.

But icicles hung from your eyelids that winter,
And splintered your vision.
Looking back, I believe you cried as much as I did,
And the tears froze across your eyes.
Because you never looked me in the eye as our minds ran to pieces
As we raced to find peace with ourselves.

You spun me for a loop,
My skull kissing paintball splattered remains of my left and right brain
As they bled all over themselves,
Knocking my sanity off of the shelves
In an attempt to explain whether love is history,
Or chemistry,
And I didn’t want to ponder the prospects
So paper was my band-aid fix all.
I wrapped my mind around it,
Concealed my soul beneath my words,
Until I was my own mummified form,
Too afraid to rip them off.
Because what if nothing had healed at all?
I rotted beneath my façade.
My smiley face band-aids the only hands of happiness that hugged me for
Months,
And I
Sunk
Into depression,
Not unlike this current recession,
Not knowing where my silver lining would be;
Wondering if it would come only when withered lines worked their way across my cheeks,
A gray hairline visible in the sun,
As proof my time had come,
To be happy.

But something better came sooner with the rains of May,
And a new boy painted smiles back onto my face.
Removing the bandages that had bruised my body,
And punctured the skin of my poetry.
So I was free to bleed again,
With fresh pieces to breathe in.

Was it happiness, or freedom that flushed my cheeks?
Or was it the uncomfortable spider that would weave my stomach in knots
As another part of me was lost
To the boy who painted my peace
For a price?

I didn’t mean to hand so much to him, love,
But a measure of pleasure came with a cost,
And at some point my beliefs were tossed to scatter in the wind,
And the spider of guilt in my stomach sunk its teeth right in,
Sadness seeping through my veins,
The venom of regret.

Because you were the only one who ever held all of me and none of me at the same time,
Who never asked for what I claimed to be mine.
All of me was yours,
Even the things you never asked for
Were stamped with your name for a future date.
But mail gets intercepted sometimes,
And my contents were spread
Before someone I hardly knew
And I-
Missed-
You…

Because you never asked for too much to touch or too much of my love
I loved you the only way I was able to.
And now…
I’m just a tainted tin can on the side of the street.
And I know you don’t have use for me,
But I’ll do my best to undo the dents of my past.
All I know is that yesterday you told me you hate it when I don’t say what’s on my mind.
But my tongue was a sponge that soaked up the ways that I’ve wanted to say
That I’m sorry.

And I’ve skipped my own beats for a year and a half,
Letting my turn to tell you I yearn for you pass
Right over
In an endless drum roll.
But-
I feel a –rhythmic- rattle-
In my –beaten-aluminum-body
As your footsteps
[Stop].
Please.
Don’t let me suffer for my heart failure.
Mymai Yuan Sep 2010
I swirled my fingertips on the surface of the water and sent a message across with shiny, glossy ripples that grew slowly, and gracefully. He kneeled on the other side of the moonlit pond and watched as the ripples from my fingertips reached him. He cupped the ripples of the water into his palm and drank the cold water, sighing happily.
“What does it taste like?” I whispered hoarsely, as loud as I dared to be while knowing we would be reprimanded fiercely for sneaking out of the huts at this time of night.
“Love” he called back.
I burst out laughing in panting breaths and tried to stifle the noise with my fists. I heard him bellow out, and the echoes rang freely through the woods before he quickly shoved his face into the water and laughed in there, the bubbles of his laughter surfacing violently.
“You idiot” I whispered joyfully when he brought his head up from the water, his dark hair curled against his forehead, “I didn’t even write anything to do with love. I wrote how foolish of a boy you are.”
“And you still stick with me so that’s love isn’t it?” he teased me. His finger tips swirled in the water for a minute. “Your turn to taste, Masra”
I waited till the ripples hit the side of the pond and quickly dipped my tongue in and lapped the water. I pursed my lips, pretending to debate what his message was. The surface of the black water was littered with reflection of the stars. It was so beautiful that I momentarily forgot the little game we were playing and gasped, “Oh stars!”
He took a quick intake of breath and stared up at me with wide eyes. “Really?” he asked in an unbelieving tone.
“What do you mean?”
“Stars?” he asked again, sounding like a sweet little confused child.
“Yes!” I laughed. “Stars!” and I splashed the surface of the water to show him.
He shook his head. “I can’t believe you could read, I mean, taste that... That’s incredible…”
It took me a second to realize what he was talking about. I decided to play along anyways and whispered dramatically, “Yeah, but I didn’t know what you were trying to say”
“A million stones on fire with wishes
Yet the brightest star is not up there” he recited his favorite lines from an old love poem.
“You are disgustingly soppy” I got up from kneeling by the pond and treaded softly on the dry leaves so that they wouldn’t crackle so loud. Reaching him, I kneeled down beside him and ran my fingers through his curly wet locks. His dark eyelashes were still wet with water and the chestnut eyes gleamed brightly.
I curled into his lap comfortably like a cat and he rolled over with me lying on top, while his strong arms held me. I buried my face into the skin of his beautiful brown neck and inhaled the sweet, musky smell. Reab smoothed my hair before murmuring huskily, “Why do you always do that?”
“It smells like you, the old Reab smell. It makes me feel safe and warm and happy.”
“I love you.”
“Do you think we’ll always be happy like this?” I asked, speaking of my deepest fear.
“I will never stop loving you, if that’s what you mean. And if we are caught sneaking out, I’m pretty sure no one would be too surprised. They all know from the way I look at you I intend to marry you when Chief thinks you’re old enough and finally say okay.”
I laughed at the thought of Chief being able to give me away.
With my parents both gone since I was a baby, Chief had adopted me as his daughter and he loved me tremendously for all his lecturing ways. Reab laughed a little too but without any fear of Chief rejecting him. Chief loved Reab too and approved of us most of the time.
“Do you remember when he caught us making ‘sheep-eyes’ at each other as he put it and he was furious?” We chuckled at the memory of Chief turning storm on us, declaring we were too young.
“What would he say now?” he turned my face to face his and kissed me for a while, with the wind blowing the tendrils of my hair on his face. He smiled mid-way through our kiss, for the soft strands of my hair on his face always tickled him.
I didn’t want to continue with my question after that happy moment. But I had to; he was the only man who would tell me the truth. “Our tribe has enemies. We have many men, many strong men… but I know we are in a constant threat. I have seen the midnight meetings you men hold when you think we are asleep and more weapons that normal are being made nowadays.”
He looked at me with sad eyes; with so much love and desire burning in them that my own eyes began to swell up with tears. I fluttered my lids to get rid of the wetness but he reached over and caught a tear on his pinky and licked it. Then he licked all the tears off my face and I giggled as his tongue flicked over the tearstains on my cheeks.
“The tribe is in some danger. You and I are not. I will love you forever.” I shook my head and was about to interrupt with another fearful question when he continued, “You know what Chief always says. We don’t live just one life. I loved you since we were babies. You know what I think?”
“What?” I asked, his voice slightly soothing my fears.
“I think I’ve known you before. There’s no way you can know someone the way I know you in the short life time we’ve lived. This is not the first time we’ve met.”
“You’re not worried if a battle comes we won’t be together?”
“No.” he answered and kissed my forehead.
“Why?” I couldn’t get rid off the idea of such a terrible fate.
“I think…” he struggled to get the words out, “I think we’ll always be together somehow. Masra, I’m… I’m just not afraid”
We lay there for a while until I fell asleep in his arms. I was awoken a little later with him shaking me softly for us to sneak back into our own huts.
There was a little advantage in having both my parents gone. Lela, my cousin who shared the hut with me, stirred only a little as I crept back in.



“I’ve been hearing from your sister that lately you have been waking very late. I don’t approve of this laziness.” Chief said to me as I sat on the floor of his hut, admiring the new spear he had just made. I sharpened the stone a little for him and smiled up brightly. His face softened. Chief was not usually an easy person to get around, but he always said he loved me more than was good for me. “I saw Reab today. He didn’t look so alert and awake.”
My mind clicked into place as I realized Chief had his suspicions. “Reab?” I inquired with an innocent expression. “Is he ill?”
“He just looked tired.” Chief replied with raised eyebrows, his eyes were a little puzzled. I had fooled him for now.
I balanced the spear in my hand. “You hold a spear too well for a woman” he grunted. “Spending too much time with me, I suppose. You should spend more time with your sister Lela. It would have been different if your mother was still alive. She would’ve taught you some womanly manners.”
“I think I’m feminine enough.”
“Look at you, blundering around after the men of the village, killing creatures and planning your attack even better than my men.”
“I don’t plan Chief; it just comes to me”
“Making it even worst!” he cried with a hidden pride.
I burst out laughing and bade him good night. He ruffled my hair fondly. “You go to sleep now Masra. Get some good sleep. Tell Reab that too” his eyes sparkled wickedly. Perhaps I hadn’t fooled him after all.
“You tell Reab, won’t you? I won’t see him till tomorrow morning.” I replied demurely.



And here passed, long uneventful days with the occasional nights that Reab and I would sneak out of the huts to spend the cool nights together and forcing ourselves out of bed at the crack of dawn along with the villagers, exhausted but happy. I suspected Chief still had his own wary thoughts, but with a denial somewhere in his mind, he did not seek to expose the truth or confine stricter rules on me through Lela. The few months that went by, I watched as Reab grew from a boy to a man.
A man I loved more than life itself.
One night, as I was lying in his arms I poked a thumb against his forehead and breathed out happily before nestling into his chest.
“What?” he asked me, amused at my random, loving behavior.
“I like to check that you’re real.”
He had no words in reply to that but tightened his hold on me, and swiftly kissed my dark hair with a sudden passion. His fingers caressed my head, and he inhaled the flowery perfume from the brown strands clutched in his hand.
“I wish you a long and happy life.” I whispered softly, afraid of the feelings that were surging through me.
“With you.” he replied back.
“No. Not just with me… anywhere… as long as you’re happy.”
“So with you then…”
Some days after that night, when it was pouring so furiously everyone had retreated back into their huts to cozy up, gossip, and flirt while warming their hands on hot wooden mugs we snuck off and climbed a special tree.
It was special because it was a giant, and very old with gnarled branches and knobs that made it easy to grip on with our toes, but the trunk itself was as smooth as a baby’s skin. It overlooked most of the village and the canopy was so thick it protected us from the rain except for the small wet drops that would escape through.
The tree stood apart from the woods and was very difficult to get to. One had to climb several other trees to reach it, ducking in and out of the tangle of branches up in the canopy like a maze. Only Reab and I had spent enough time up there to discover the path in reaching it. We were yet to discover how to reach it without getting scratches and bleeding scabs all over our skin.
Every time the thunder roared deafeningly Reab would yell, “I love you!” and no one could hear but Reab, the heavens, our special little tree and I.
He was so beautiful; like a lithe dangerous animal and his muscles were graceful and strong as he climbed around on the branches. I wished for the rest of our days to be like this and I remembered the lines he had recited to me only a little while ago,
““A million stones on fire with wishes
Yet the brightest star is not up there”

*

A distant roar erupted. The stars had not granted my wish, they had granted my deepest fear. The sound of drums rumbled steadily over the noise of screaming villagers, over the noise of animal fear in those I loved and lived with.
It was the sign that our enemies were finally in sight. We had been waiting for there attack all year long.
Lela grabbed me by the arm. “The chief says all women must flee!” she gasped and choked. Her eyes were leaking with tears. I stubbornly shook away her hand and I could see the desperateness growing in her eyes.
“There is no time to cry Lela”, I tried saying confidently but my voice shook. “Where is Reab?”
Even in her hysterical state she did not want to answer the question I already knew the answer to. “Where is Reab?” I repeated. When she did not reply I narrowed my eyes.
In the face of danger I had never been woman-like and cowered.
Chief had raised me stare any wild beast straight into its cold, predatory eyes before slaying it. I was not unfamiliar to thrusting a jagged dagger into the heart of danger.
I would not leave a man I loved behind like the running footsteps of women carrying their babies, pushing old people along, and dragging wailing children were doing.
I would not leave and I would fight when I could.
Lela stared at me as if she’d just read my mind.  “You may not fight Masra!” she cried. I pushed her aside.
“Help the women evacuate! Grab a baby, help a village elderly; just do it Lela!” I yelled violently and ran through the women who were running towards the woods.
I shoved women aside to get to the battle. My long legs tangled with the other woman, and I fell on my knees. They were both bleeding badly when I got up. Running with my knees stinging, a huge man suddenly grabbed me and swung me to face him. For one moment, I thought he was Reab and I clutched onto him; then I saw it was Chief, and I clutched to him even tighter.
“Chief, please don’t make me go away! Please let me fight with you!” I was screeching and begging with no sanity left in me.
He smiled weakly, “I wanted you to come without little Lela, I knew you would be headed this way. I have not much time Masra, my men need me. I have something I want to give you to make sure you will be safe enough to last through this war if I die,” he spoke softly.
I shook my head and hugged him. “But- but you- you wont!”
Chief gave me a sad smile. “I don’t know that.”
His brown hands reached to his neck and tugged a simple black leather string free. He shoved it into my hands. “Remember this, Masra. Just say to it, ‘Jack, Jack, shine the light’ when you feel there is nobody left in the world for you. Be ready for what happens. Goodbye Masra…”
He touched my cheek and warmth spread though me, momentarily making me feel safe.
“Why Jack?” I asked wretchedly, in a detached curiosity and trying to prolong the moment that Chief would be safe.
Jack was a commoner’s name; no one in our tribe was called Jack. We all had strong, powerful names that spoke of destiny, truth and purity.
“Chief Traben!” a man cried from the noises of surging mob of warriors.
“Go, Masra, go!” Chief said hurriedly, and pushed me away before whipping out of sight.
Chief had been like my best friend, my big brother and … my father. I wanted to fight with him, for him. But I knew in doing that, I would go against his wishes, and that was the last thing I would ever want to do.
A sudden thought made me realize I did not have to fight. I just had to be there or I would **** somebody in my own village for leaving behind loved ones. I knotted the black leather string determinedly on my neck.
I ran to the bottom of a slippery tree and climbed up to the canopy and began to duck in and out, swinging between and onto branches in the maze-like chaos of sticks and concentrated leaves to get to the special tree Reab and I shared.
I hid among the thick tangle; so thick no arrows would be able to pierce me and no enemy would see me. Growling and cursing myself, I remembered I carried no weapons with me and hastily patted my clothing to check again.
Then I remembered it would be useless to have any weapons unless I intended to go down there, for the abundant tangle worked both ways. A spear thrown from where I was would only get stuck in the dense branches below.
I could see the battle though, and that was enough: for now. I searched vainly for Reab, scampering along the top, trying to find where Reab was. I was wild with fury for him for coming.
He was just a boy, newly turned a man. He could still run and hide without shame. When I had him back in my arms again, I was sure to hit him and berate him for choosing to fight for me instead of being safe for me.
It never occurred to me once that Reab might be dead.
It still didn’t occur to me when I saw his body lying on the dirt below, with a man from a village - someone I couldn’t recognize from this height- dragging him. I shouted out, careless of the arrows of enemies.
For the first time in my life, I was terrified of blood: the blood that was seeping out of the wound on his stomach. I didn’t think he was dead; I believed he was injured and I thought of all the herbal concoctions I knew that I could paste over the wound to clean and heal it.
It still didn’t occur to me Reab was dead when the man left him by the bottom of a tree to return and fight. The men in our village did not leave those who could be healed. They stayed and helped them heal to the best of their ability before hiding their healing bodies’ safe in a bush. They only left behind those they could do no more for.
I trembled at anger in the neglect one of our men villagers had shown Reab; the disrespect in it. I would **** him if he were not killing our enemy. Somehow, in the wild pulsing of my body, I found myself climbing down and creeping stealthily to where Reab was and pulling him to safety in a bush.
When he was safe in the bushes, I held him and whispered to him that I was here. I said hold on Reab and I would go and make sure he was safe. I was sobbing. I could not comprehend what was happening for my mind had gone numb and blank.
How could a man who I loved so much bleed so much? All I knew was Reab was not moving in my arms and he must be terribly hurt.
I pressed my fingers to the blood on his stomach. I knew no man could have survived such a wound and so much lo
Jennifer Freya May 2013
Shouting a hello to a dark and empty room,
Hearing my cry echo back to where I stand
Alone without friends in the space of my mind
Facing the harsh truth that my soul demands.

I look for sunshine even though I only see grey.
A level deep within takes pleasure in the despair
Of the vast empty sky, bereft of warmth and light.
Sitting here I loathe that which I feel I cannot repair.

Curled up on the bed, clutching the sides of a hollow body,
Wishing for comfort, for a companion to understand,
I know that I’ll be right here again tomorrow,
Even though there are some willing to lend a hand.

Because this darkness has become familiar,
Making it a comfortable, though destructive place.
I unleash the usual wealth of tears and hatred,
For frustration with who I am and who I’m not is a losing race.

Rubbing at the itchy tearstains on already-red cheeks,
I remind myself that I am not alone and that I am strong.
But I no longer wish to believe that for how can it be true,
When I’ve been crushed under this weight for so long?

Pain is a feeling, which is better than feeling nothing.
Crying for a faraway love, for feeling lost in my dreams,
Shattered under the expectations of others (and of myself),
Spiritless, with no motivation to sew the torn seams.

Ironic really, how this feeling can hurt so much,
Yet be craved with an incredibly forceful need.
Like an addiction, knowing that it is wrong,
But still I always choose the mind-numbing ****.

For it takes away the hard reality of life
Allowing an escape into a world surreal.
Because that seems better than the truth
Of a world that I can no longer feel.
lua Nov 2021
whispers of green that linger in the air
wafting through the grey morning breeze
the sun is shy today, i think to myself
while i hide behind my own wall of clouds

the water is cold and seemingly bottomless
when i dip my toes in the murky black
i watch it ripple
and fogs of blue leak from my lips

jump in
the tide is waist-high
and sends shivers spiraling down your spine
wash away the tearstains of night
and you'll find yourself
looking for the sun.
Fox Apr 2014
I wrote I love you in the sand at the beach
Tide swallowed the words and drowned them
But the waves were not the reason for impeding speech
My awkward asocial character is the one to condemn
  Now the words are gone like the tearstains on my sheets that I have just  bleached.
gwen Sep 2016
Solitary, lie-back moments; of being in the coziest of places surrounded by the most mundane yet magical. Melancholy has a way of tinging itself with those little nuances of memory, and those little nuances of memory tinge themselves with shades of bittersweet and sad recollection over time. Silent reckonings, simplistically suppressing thoughts - all huge contradictions to the slow, natural motion of letting the waves wash over you.

Is this emotional maturity? Is this a step forward? Life is always full of too many intricacies to tell for sure.

The familiar scents of tearstains and revulsion being punctuated by the occasional flicker of light ahead; pain and perseverance, hope and the promise of heaven.

We are so full of contradictions - concrete, grounded beings yet with so many abstractions and complexities in our heads. A constant grapple, a relentless cycle. Coming back to places of washed up memories has this effect on you; but you pull through, you plough through quicksands, you pick up the small rationalities that have gone astray, and you move forward like you’ve always been doing before. It’s the only thing we know how to do.

Walk on our own, on our own two feet.

And pray that whatever knocks us down, will never be enough to sink us.
written exactly a year ago. it's been a while.
Kalen Dion Jul 2018
If ever you resided within a chamber of my heart,
Know that it still wears your decorations of affection.

The crafts we built of time,
The wrinkles in the draperies,
The tearstains in the carpet,
That used to bring us comfort.

I may have changed the locks.

Shuttered it to yesterday.

But late at night,
When all is dark,
When silence falls upon my spirit,
My inner child,
A forgotten hope,
A life we birthed and buried....

Cracks the door,
From time to time,
And sparks a whispered vigil,
So light can touch the splinters
In the plaster of my soul.

A faded house of love...

A place we once called home
Shannon Mar 2018
anklets and
bloodlust
what an unsettling concept
Sky Mar 2016
I am made up of fragments
Bits of memory stain my skin
And I can fade
Into the woodwork, silent wallflower
I have one foot stuck in the past,
And I don’t know how to get it out
Without twisting my ankle

Oh, like-minded soul,
Could you come
To take me home?
Oh, like-minded soul,
Please, take my hand and lead me home

It was so random,
I dont even know how
I spotted you through the fog of thoughts
You caught my eye, your skin tattooed with memories
Just like mine
I saw the shadow in your eyes
I couldn’t look away
I couldn’t turn away from you

Oh, like-minded soul,
Could you come
To take me home?
Oh, like-minded soul,
Please, take my hand and lead me
Home

I swear I see my own tearstains
Turning your skin blue
And I swear that those are my scars
Shining on your arms
And I might be looking in a mirror;
Those eyes match mine
Even though the color is off
Our souls are the same,
We feel the same odd heartbeat
So, like-minded soul,
Tell me, do you know way home?
Oh, like-minded soul,
Let’s go find the way home

Oh, like-minded soul,
Could you come
To take me home?
Oh, like-minded soul,
Please, take my hand and lead me home

Ooh, like-minded soul,
I’ve come to take you home
Oh, like-minded soul,
Take my hand, I’ll lead you home.
This is actually a song that I came up with last night...I have a basic melody and tune for it, and I’m hoping I might be able to actually put together some music for it...we’ll see what happens :)
Azalea Banks Jun 2013
I spend my days waiting for night to come,
And nights awake waiting for day.

It’s a hopeless conundrum,

Like waiting for a flight in permanent delay.

My bedroom has become a terminal

Where tungsten lights seep through tearstains,

Where happiness is a criminal

On the run from your grenade.

I’m waiting for your satisfaction

Your smirk of approval, your disdain,

And all I get is a kiss from your shotgun

Blown off, blind-sided once again.

What’s another day to me

One step closer to being depraved

Of meaning, of purpose, of distinction;

I’m just another patient face.

I’ll wait.
Ray Shek Dec 2017
there is something powerful about holding
a pen in your hand and writing down
all of the things that you know
and that you
don’t

so my tearstains litter the page like petals
falling from my pen
because my eyes have lost their caring long ago
I’m not sure when
but at some point being okay
became more important than being alive so

I don’t really cry anymore. can’t.
sometimes I know that I should but
the tears don’t come and I feel
a little less than human

but this is how i love myself:
honest ink tracing words of the heart
words that hold my essence better than i ever could
words that voice my joy and my hope and my anguish
words
words
words
Emma Langley Oct 2012
Him
I said I loved you,
I don't know if I ment it,
My mom asked me questions,
"What colour are his eyes?"
"I don't know blue I think"
"Is he left or right handed?"
"Left I think,"
"If you loved him you would be able to ansewer these."
I think that is when I knew,
That I didn't love you.
You were irivicably in love with me.
There was nothing I could do,
To convince you not to love me.
I tried to let you down gentaly,
And you apreared to handle it well.
But later I saw you eyes,
They were red and puffy,
There were tearstains on you cheeks,
And I knew that you still loved me.
I heard that you were going to **** your self.
The first thing I thought was,
"If he is going to **** you self over a girl you have some seriouse issues,"
Then I heard from someone else
That you were saying it to get my attention.
And I thought,
"He is way to desperate,"
I am glad I broke up with you.
I am not sorry I broke your heart.
Please comment
whispertotheair Jun 2013
"Once Upon A Time"
when I was a child
heard that line many times
In the end nobody cried,
everybody was happy,
love would ignite.

Always though that was the truth,
and that a Once Upon A Time
would come for me too
but now I have grown to realize
that fairy tales aren´t real life.

Love will never come
at least not in the way I thought.
But with pain
heartbreaks and tearstains.

My prince won´t be there.
and my happily ever after
won´t be the end.
Alyssa Yu May 2014
I am too much of a coward to say this to your face
But since this is a poem
I don’t feel as helpless
Because my thoughts always made more sense coming from my hands than my lips

Since this is a poem
I’m less afraid to confess
How I loved that you chose me
And how I will do anything I can to justify the trust you’ve given me

Since this is a poem
I will admit that this was the first time I have cried for someone else
And that the space before you answered your phone was wrought with a terror I’ve never known

Still, since this is a poem
It is easier to lie when desperation rips off the mask you have so carefully constructed
And you stumble into my arms
Asking—no, crying whenwillthisendwhenwillthisendwhenwillthisend
between gasps for air
Soon, my love, soon
I promise

Since this is a poem
Maybe you’ll finally listen
When I say that you are not a burden
Or a ****** friend
(I know because I have been both, way too many times)

Since this is a poem
I can whisper and SHOUT and emphasize my words
Until you understand
That you are the one person I have ever truly cared about
(And only you know what a big deal that is for me)

You can keep apologizing for being weak
But all that hurts me are the tearstains on your cheeks

And if you are an anchor
Then you must be chained to sky
Darling, haven’t you realized by now
You are the only reason I am still alive.
For the same best friend.
Lundyn Claire Dec 2014
January 19th:
The plaid sheets that used to be home to all of our memories, is now stained with my tears. I want you to know that you’re still there and that your hoodie is still sitting in the back of my closet, its scent strong enough for me to smell the memories of those winter nights. Your half-empty box of Camels is tucked away in the opening under my floorboards. I always thought that would be what would’ve killed you, not that **** car.

“Those things ‘ill **** you.” I would always say.

“If these things are the one to **** me, I guess we weren’t together long enough for you to do it.” You would always reply, with that quirky smirk of yours.

These are the conversations that I miss the most. Sitting on those sheets and pretending you’re right there is how I spend my days. They said that we were young and stupid and didn’t know anything about love. That we wouldn’t even remember each other’s names come next year. I miss you, God I miss you and I just wish you would come home to where you belong, with me.

Jess




January 22nd:
It’s 11:27 pm and I’m sitting on your grave. I have permanent tearstains on my face I can’t stop crying. Stupid you and your stupid grin that I fell in love with in the first place. Stupid you and your stupid scar above your right eyebrow that you got when you fell off of your bike as a kid. Stupid you. I love you. Can’t you see that? I’m right here, and I love you and want you here with me.

Jess
kay Feb 2015
when I was born and named a girl, my older brother decided he hated me. there was nothing to it; he wanted a brother because that way he could take out all the anger planted in him by my other siblings, and he got a sister who idolized him because he could make friends.

when I was three my mom, in a moment of clarity, took me to a doctor after I was sick for three weeks. a nurse heard my heart not beating right and sent me to get seen, six months later I was cut open and sewed clean, a hole in my heart to match the one my father had sealed up by modern medicine.

my mom never forgot that "miracle" or that I told the surgery psych that I was getting my broken heart fixed, and that my father was more worried that I'd live in constant agony than that I might die on the table, in mind or body.

at about four and a half, my dad came and took my brother and I out of my mom's care, because he had a home and didn't want us on the streets if he could help it. it never lasted, homelessness was as commonplace as walking to school for us. I didn't know it wasn't okay to live in a car until I was six.

when I was five I missed most of kindergarten because I lived in a shack on a ranch and had lice, and by the time I was back in class, I was the only one who didn't get basic math and couldn't read, but California doesn't hold kids back unless they have to and I got pushed ahead.

in second grade I made my first friend, and a few months into the school year I made another. I was a girl back then and they thought it was cool that I wasn't girly, so I was allowed. one day on the way in from recess I got called fat and ugly to my face the first time, and when I looked for support, I was told it was true.

I was nine the first time I wanted to **** myself. I ran my fingers over the blades of my father's razor and I wondered how much it hurt to bleed out and if blood stained linoleum and how much it would cost to bury me somewhere, and then I closed my eyes and remembered that my father would **** himself if I wasn't there.

by fourth grade I didn't care what was happening, I just wanted to read and sleep. I never did homework and my friends were only interested in me if I knew an answer they didn't. the teachers were convinced I was learning disabled but I was busy growing up two-parts ignored and one part abused, because the day I brought home my best grades was the day my uncle decided that he'd punish me himself.

when I was twelve I was told my dream was STUPID because I was never going to be good enough, not me, to write what people want to read. I was told that, with the grades I was getting I shouldn't even be allowed to do anything but schoolwork, despite my constant requests for help they wouldn't or couldn't give.

the first time I cut myself, I was in seventh grade. I stayed in my room all day and stared at the scabs, and then I scratched them off and did it again. it felt better to be bleeding outside and crying than to be collapsing inside and crying; there was a physical reason to my methods.

when I was fourteen, I was hospitalized for two days after I threatened to **** myself, and the doctors told me the "rosy glow" I always have was rosacea, and that I was depressed but not depressed enough to take up space there, and sent me home.

I wish I could say I stopped cutting then, but I didn't. it got worse when I moved in with my mom again, because she told me everything I secretly was was disgusting, and the two months she kept me medicated lamented over the high price of $50 for her child's sanity and well-being; even if it never worked, the thought that it wasn't even worth trying hurt more than the razorblades she kept around to tease me with.

I was fifteen when I carved HATE into my left forearm.

it took me time to understand that humans smile and the whole time I tried to learn I was ordered to STOP SCOWLING. it took me time to learn how to talk to people, to understand that unless someone starts a conversation I'm probably not wanted and to trick myself into thinking of character flaws as quirks and of the shattered pieces of myself as ripples in a pool instead of the breaks that they were

I learned to hold my face in a smirk and my arms around myself and that if you laugh loud enough no one looks too hard at the scars that keep multiplying, that if you joke often enough the tearstains on your cheeks are normal and the way you bristle when someone puts their hand up too fast or hugs you first will become afterthoughts, just like I taught myself to be and that no one worries about you not sleeping for a week if you memorize interesting things while you're awake.
Ember Evanescent Oct 2014
I wrote you a goodbye letter
I still have it folded and creased and hidden
Inside of my bedroom
The bedroom that has concealed so many of my secrets
Over the years
I know our bond died
Fourteen months ago
But our loyalty never did
And my love for you like a sister
Is undying
I didn't want to say goodbye
I couldn't think of the words
I put it off until the absolute
Last
Possible
Second
The morning of the last day of school
June 26th
Social studies final exam
Still unable to accept I'm saying goodbye to you
Forever
I typed it up at the breakfast table
Rushed words I over thought the night before
Tears refuse to stop flowing
As I write to you words
Of how much you mean to me
How much I miss the old you
How I will never forget our friendship
How the memories are eternal
And nothing
Has ever
Ever
Hurt
So
Bad
As losing
You.
I waited for you
Alone
For ages
For a thousand eternities that past
Within seconds
...
...
...
...
...
...



You weren't there.

I wrote you a goodbye letter
With tearstains and love
Even though I hate you
Because I love you
I wrote you a goodbye letter
That you never read
And I still keep it hidden away
And I feel you forgetting the mememories
The laugher
The blue heart
The loveliness
The strength
The love
Forgetting it all
With every breath
Forgetting me
...
It's okay
I'll be okay
...
It's just that,
Well,
You didn't say goodbye.

And I wrote you a goodbye letter
Not enough broken friendship poems out there and this has been hurting me for too long.  Please comment.
derelictmemory Jan 2014
More often than not I find myself looking through space like there's something there for me to reach for
But you see ghosts are just the dead trying to fit their way back into our lives when they no longer can
And whispers only travel so far before they become hush hums in the winds you blow
I'd give anything to be able to share it with you and have you see past what you let yourself believe
But dandelions fly too far sometimes and they don't really ever find their way back even on the expressway
I only really wear the bracelets I bought to hide the secret lines I write at 3am on the bathroom floor
And you don't watch or look out for the silent flinches when someone grabs my forearm
Neither do you question the tearstains on my pillow when you come over never
So when I'm reaching into the vast amount of nothingness for something to keep me from breaking
I hardly ever come across anything that will help because you can hardly mend broken things that are still cracking at the edges and crumbling into dust
Steve Page Jun 2019
Your tears will speak for you
while your loss dries up all words.

The spreading tearstains
on my shoulder
are eloquent enough.
Loss strikes you dumb. That's okay.  Just find someone to hold you.
Jo Hummel Oct 2014
I'm bleeding horizons into the carpet with every ideal I can't obtain.
Oxygen catching in my throat, my lungs don't want it anymore.
You left me heaving promises into thin air and holding myself up on a chair with a missing leg.
Who are you to tell me what I don't want?

I'm not scared of you. (I'm terrified.)

I can walk this earth alone and confident. (Will you catch me when I stumble?)

Tripping over my own tearstains is an accident I've grown used to,
but outsiders still think it odd...
Who would've known to be afraid of themselves?
This doesn't make any sense.
I'm just tired of being afraid of everything so I'm my own worst enemy I guess.
This is literally directed at myself.
Phantom Poet Jul 2018
When you make a friend,
Someone who knows you,
And feel like she will stay till the end,
A feeling develops within you,
The more we talk,
The more this love is there for you,
A friend who would mock,
A friend who would talk,
About endless dreaming with you,
Make plans with you,
Always talking over text,
Everything is perfect,
And everything blinds you,
Cuz you love her,
But.....,
She never loved you,
You imagined a life with her,
U can't leave her,
And she loves someone else,
She will be with her lover,
And you can't even talk to anyone,
Cuz you loved her,
And she was your best friend too,
You have no one to talk to,
You don't know what to do,
Just.....,
Feel this familiar pain,
A pain you are used to,
This is what you get,
For being kind,
Loving,
Caring,
And good,
To someone so much,
Just pain,
Just tearstains,
And sleepless nights,
And empty stomach,
And broken heart,
You are not ready to smile again,
To try yet,
Cuz everytime,
This is what you get.
Jo Hummel Aug 2014
I have never been sad.

Tearstains are nothing but memories of heartache
and I want to forget everything.

If I could love you,
and grace your lips with my touch,
without force,
would the notion be reciprocated?

I used to wonder what it felt like
to be a bird:
I am constantly trapped in a cage of my emotions.

My song knows no sweetness.
I am a Siren.
I am broken without sorrow
and sing only of those cold nights
that lack your presence.

Missing you is regretful.

I have always been destructive.
Open the door to where you store the pain,
where you sit on your swing in the driving rain.

Let me in to the coldness of your dark,
that yawning abyss untouched by your heart.

Open the chest that conceals your true identity,
weighing the cons with the wrong quantity.

The power you have in this world is fettered
only by your need to never feel bettered,
to have your own invaluable name unlettered.

Don’t hide your repositories from me,
unlock them all and let me see.

I am your ally in this battle, in this war,
hear me tapping gently on your bolted door.
I see the tearstains rotting the bedroom floor,
be brave and I won’t let your hurt any more.

Open the door to where you store the pain,
where you sit on your swing in the driving rain,
your feet off the ground with nothing to gain
by staying up high swinging in the rain.
Don’t forget what you’ve won and what’s still to gain,
open the door to where you store the pain.
Jayne E Apr 2020
Night bleeds out
through to daybreak
counting seconds
scouring each
shadows shake
waiting to hide
in sunshine bright
counting scar lines
trying to keep it tight
a slaughterhouse
of me you'd make
Valentine's kisses
blown from fists
your promises
bleak
feigned cautioned
so no blame
could be apportioned
echoes in my ears
my heart still beats
my blood still flows
a small mercy
but
we both
know
know
know
that's not the way
it was meant to
go
go
go
heart beating
skin warm
blood flows
still
after it all
my hands refuse to
shake
shake
shake
but
we both know
the cost
it did
take
take
take

2  3  1  5

exit alive
the eye line
high above
the skyline
remains
contains
my vaulted
broken heart
devestation overload
you tore it all apart
bruised ego
refused to let me
go
go
go
and so
bloodstains
on the carpet
tearstains
on the sheets
celluloid keepsakes
my heart
breaks
breaks
breaks
over
and over
again and
again
did it do it
for you
make you
feel victorious
complete
roll the film
take a seat
watch
see
love
smothered by deceit

© J.C.

— The End —