This Is Not A Love Poem

I thought we'd have more time. I thought if I just played the music it would become real. I thought if I ignored the pain it would go away. I thought so many things but I was wrong and now I can't sleep because of the words flashing through my head.

I hope I didn't annoy you and that you didn't think me too forward. Sometimes I think about the things I said to you and I wish I could disappear. You were always the one around to catch me talking to myself, and at first I didn't mind but now I do. I guess I was never meant for you anyway. 

Really I'm just confused. People told me white looked good on me, so I wore white. And the world said I should wear my heart on my sleeve, because after all, everyone else is doing it and I want to fit in... right? So I wore my heart on my sleeve, but it started bleeding where everyone could see it. That's the problem with these white shirts, I can't hide the bloodstains. That's why we wear black at funerals, you know. So you can't see our hearts bleeding as they break...

But I'm not talking about funerals, I'm talking about you, and halfway through this poem I realized I'm not writing about who I thought I was. Who am I kidding, this isn't even poetry. It's just words. Coming from a girl who drives home at 10:30 at night with the windows rolled down and her hands outstretched because she once thought she held the stars on her fingertips. A girl who keeps replaying those three songs because she can't forget and she can't let go. A girl with dirty, blistered feet because she danced like the devil was the judge. 

My emotions are running too high for me to think clearly anymore. My joints are stiff, my body painfully aware of its tired bones rubbing against each other, grinding themselves down to dust. I think I might fall apart if I'm not careful. But shouldn't I be too young to feel so old?

I'm just trying to find where I belong because I don't really know. But when I'm with you I feel like I belong somewhere. I know I'm an ugly crier but you looked past that and let me soak your shirt with my tears. 

It helped, but it still wasn't enough. I thought the church foyer would be empty. It wasn't. And still the tears find ways to slip out of my eyes late at night when I can't blame them on my contacts. But you still help me, except soon we'll both go our separate ways, and then where will I belong?

Ten more days, but I miss you already. 

Cracks in the Screen

I'm cracked. I've been injured and damaged and fractured but I'm still not exactly sure why or how and I'm trying to figure it out.

I'm crazy. I have too many homeless words and not enough people to tell them to.

I'm lonely. I have made and lost friends my entire life. I haven't spoken to some in years, but I still remember them and I always will. I miss them.

I'm broken. He may have broken my heart, but I'm trying not to let him break my soul. I know he never meant to hurt me, but he did. He held my hand tighter than necessary, enough that for the tiniest sliver of a moment I let myself believe he might feel about me the same way I feel about him.

I'm defeated. They tell me I've never seemed this defeated before, but I've never felt this defeated before.

I'm scared. I don't know what should happen after my worst nightmare comes true. My dreams have all become nightmares, so maybe I'll just say good night to my dreams.

I'm masochistic. Being near him is the most beautiful torture I've ever experienced. Why do I keep hurting myself? 

I'm poetic. Because poetry is really just words bleeding from a pen onto paper, and these words were written with my blood and sealed with my tears, and I think I enjoy using metaphors and run-on sentences.

I'm defiant. People keep telling me that it's wonderful to get older. From my experience, all I've noticed is that the older you get the grayer your hair is and the more dead people you know.

I'm uncertain. Sometimes I wonder who I pray to every night. And I wonder if He still listens to people who call Him by the wrong name. 

I'm conflicted. I wish you would stop, because my heart is breaking, but I want you to keep going, because I like the feeling. 

I'm alive. I feel like I'm on fire at the thought of him ever loving me. But I know that will never happen, so I need to stop thinking about it. 

I'm distracted. Because there are some things I just don't want to remember. I wish I could forget the confusion and the hallucinations and the heartbreak and why are the memories I still have the ones I wish I could forget? Because you forget what you want to remember and you remember what you want to forget.

I'm timeless. I feel younger than my body but older than my soul. So disjointed and out of place within myself.

I'm lost. I'm floating in an endless sea with no idea where the shore might be, and I can't stop using these metaphors.

I'm childish. I don't like being alone in the dark. I think I still believe there are monsters under my bed.

I'm pensive. I can't stop thinking about how much I miss what I never had, what could have been. I didn't realize how much the smell of summer makes me sad. It makes me miss that something I can't name.

I'm delusional. I have conversations with him in my head all the time. I should stop doing that. I probably won't.

I'm serene. It's silent, and the best kind of silence is when you're with another person but neither one of you feel the need to fill the silence.

I'm afraid. I'm terrified of being with someone, but honestly, I'm even more scared of being alone.

I'm hurt. A scream tears itself from my throat when I see the scarlet blood running in streams down my arm and I'm still stuck on these metaphors because the blood isn't real but I feel like it is and all I can smell is the metallic scent of blood.

I'm cracked. These are the cracks in my screen. The cracks in my sanity. The cracks in my soul.

After the Rain

A raindrop hits my arm and I brush it away. Another hits my cheek and I swipe my hand across that one, too. But then the rain starts coming faster and faster and it's no use anymore. It's just a drizzle at first, but soon it's a downpour.

A car drives by and splashes a wave of water all over me... I think my new boots are ruined.

Water runs in rivulets from my hairline down into my face and I blink away some of the water as I reach up to brush it out of my eyes. I remember belatedly that my hand is wet, so it obviously doesn't do any good.

I'm going to get wet anyway, so it might as well open up and pour.

Let it rain. Let the clouds cry out as much as they want and let their tears drown me, drench me, mix with my own tears. Let the storm hit me, beat me, batter me. Let it make my hair frizzy and my skin soaked. Let the flood come out and let me feel the storm and finally learn to appreciate it. Let the rain hurt me, and I will come out stronger.

Let it rain, and then I can find out what happens after.

Locked

I want to slap the smile off your face, but that would only give you pleasure because I'm fighting back.

I want to tie your hands behind your back so you can't hurt me, and lock you in a closet where you can't hurt others, until you understand what it's like to be lonely. 

I want to duct tape your mouth so that you can't say any more hurtful words, because that means I no longer have to pretend that they don't hurt me. 

I want to find out what's important to you and use it against you, and I want to destroy your twisted heart that will only get more crooked with time. 

I want to scar your face so people won't be taken in by your innocent looks and constant lies.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tears sting behind my eyelids, but I won't cry. I won't cry. I can't give you the satisfaction of seeing me cry, letting you know I want to run and hide where you'll never find me. 

I never want to see you again because I loath these feelings you arouse in me. I hate feeling this much fury, this much rage, this much pain, this much misery every time I see you. 

I hate being scared of what I want to do. I hate feeling this way. 

I hate what you're turning me into.