Easier Hurt than Heard

It’s easier to hear a ringing in your ear after you got hit in the head;

Easier than having to sit and listen to someone give up on you.

It’s easier to hear glass breaking against your knuckles;

Easier than to have someone put words in your mouth like they know you.

It’s easier to hear your bones cracking as you tumble down the stairs;

Easier than never hearing from the person you hold dear, ever again.

It’s just easier to hear things being destroyed

Than having to feel something inside of you being broken.

On Lonely Nights

On lonely nights, I wear your shirt. I feel safe when I do. It’s like being under your skin; being enveloped in your embrace.

On lonely nights, I put your records on. I hear your voice as it plays. My soul dances to your melody.

On lonely nights, I would write. I try to materialize your absence into words, hoping that the flow of ink will rid me of my grief.

On lonely nights, I close my eyes and relive all our times together. I swear I could almost feel the nearness of you when I reminisce.

On lonely nights, I stay isolated. I cannot stand the presence of another being without thinking of you in everything they do.

On lonely nights, I am yours, solely, as I am every other day of my existence.

On lonely nights, I don’t go out looking for the sun. I stay in the dark and make myself feel lonelier. Because, these days, I am only closest to you during those lonely nights.

 

 

Displaced Violence

I WANT TO BREAK PLATES, LIKE HOW YOU BROKE MY HEART,

chiseling small cracks then dropping it all at once.

I WANT TO PUNCH WALLS ‘TIL IT GOES COMPLETELY RED,

as red as those lips which spoke nothing but lies.

I WANT TO INFILTRATE A NEIGHBORING HOUSE, LIKE HOW YOU ENTERED MY LIFE,

unexpected, unwanted, yet forced into submission.

I WANT TO BURN DOWN A LIBRARY, KNOWING THAT BOOKS ARE MY LIFE,

just so you’d have an idea of how much i’m killing myself right now.

I JUST WANT TO SELF DESTRUCT THIS VERY SECOND,

because this is all too much for me.

I WANT TO SEE THINGS BROKEN.

I WANT TO LOOK AT THEM SHUFFLED IN CHAOS.

because I can’t see how broken I am.

I can only feel it,

And feel it all at once.

Better Off Broken

Perhaps-

How do I say this?

Perhaps we have to swim in sadness.

Perhaps we are destined to take the road less traveled.

Perhaps we are to kiss pain, again and again.

Perhaps agony is our closest friend.

Perhaps we are children of darkness.

Perhaps we must not get out of the rabbit hole.

Perhaps we function best in sorrow.

Perhaps bitterness keeps our drive running.

Perhaps we were made to be shattered and scattered.

Perhaps all our paths lead to a dead end

Perhaps we were born to be alone.

Perhaps we are better off-

What’s the word?

Broken?

Perhaps.

 

On the Wrong Side of the Bed

i wake up to the same thing
something that i don’t know
i wake up to it and i don’t feel anything
but i also feel everything
is it something that i had?
or i think i had?
or i had for a while
but i can’t have now
and is it a person
a desire
a sensation
is it something that hurt me? yes
but i’m still looking for it\
even when i don’t know what i’m looking for.
opposite to that.
is it something i fear?
A situation i am now in.
like waking up to a house, alone.
or being told that you’re worthless
that you’re a second choice
or that it was all for play
or revenge
these things from the past
i’ve boxed them up
i’ve set them aside
but somehow, they’ve managed to come out
and haunt me, and hunt me down.

Out of Reach

Dream,

After dream,

After dream,

I saw your face;

As vivid as a sunrise.

I reach out,

Only to find my hand scorched

By the reality that

You are just a cold figure in my mind.

There is an ocean,

where a breath of air should be,

Between us.

 

On the Wrong Side of the Bed

Toss, Turn.

Roll over,

Roll back.

Tonight, we sleep;

Lying on something as concrete as feathers and sheets,

Drenched in a sensation as abstract as emotions,

Endlessly pondering on memories which we thought had dissolved.

A Heavy Void

A heart that prays

A heart that cries

A heart that sings 

One lullaby

 

In darkness

Lives

In the light

Dies

A heart that is scorned

Scarred, and pried

 

The veins

Detached

To survive

It tries

A heart that is made 

Of tears and sighs

 

With wings 

Now torn

Chained down

It lies

A heart that can

No longer fly

 

A chest 

Carved hollow

Seek

You shan’t find

A heart that seems it once was mine. 

 

 

A poem for Paula

Just One Stick

“Just one stick”

I mutter to myself

I can’t let go of Nicotine

Like I can’t let go of you

It keeps me sane

It keeps you with me

In my baffled head

My shattered heart

My shriveled lungs

Heaving

Heaving

But you are with me

And those memories

Burning

Like the tip of the cigarette

Fading

Blown away

Like the smoke that comes with it

Consumed to tip

Like my clench on reality

“Just…one last”

This will not be the first I have said that

In Need of a Friend

Dearest Madeline,

I feel like I’ve been chased and ripped apart by wolves.

Last night, he was just with me, sweet as sugar, comforting as warm milk. Now, he’s gone. Never to return again, perhaps.

I am reacquainted with this heaviness in my chest. I can feel the void eating my heart from the inside. Hollow, my heart has become, so it seems. Don’t you find it funny, that something is missing, yet it feels as though the weight of the world is strapped upon your back? I never got that whole concept.

I can not fathom how the same person who brought me back summer, now took the sun, and left me out in the cold. Absurd. Cruel, even.

Madie, I was the side dish to his main course. It was her from the very beginning, her ’til the end. Is that all I will ever be? Someone’s confused choice? A trial and error girl?

I was skeptical, you know? I was afraid to get attached, afraid to get hurt for the billionth time, afraid I might end up as the wrong choice. But I gave it a shot, took the risk, gave in to the notion of love, in the hope that this time will be different. I had hoped that it would not leave me shattered, and scattered in the pavement, like road kill.

Why is my happiness always so short-lived? Shorter than normal.

He can never get over her smile. I mean, who can blame him? She’s top shelf. But alas, that was pretty low, even for him. How could he have given me so much to hold on to, when, right from the start, he was unsure of how he felt about me? Did he even like me?

All these thoughts are flooding my senses. I can not see the sunshine, though it is day. I can not hear the sweet music the birds used to sing. I can not feel the warmth of another’s embrace. I can not smell the fragrant flowers in the garden. I can not taste the sweetness of this chocolate cake, I am now eating.

Nothing.

I feel empty.

                                                                                                                                                                         Your Friend,

    Beatrice

P.S. I wish you were here beside me, sitting in the coffee shop, drinking tea, and banishing all our worries.