A poem,
Is a little story,
You write on little paper.
Sometimes it rhymes,
Sometimes it doesn't.

A poem,
Is a song,
That the singer was too hurt to sing aloud.
Sometimes it's mortal and sad,
Sometimes it's the irony of walking out of a flood thirsty.

A poem,
Is a prayer,
One that the author begs you to hear.
Sometimes it will save your soul,
Sometimes it will save another's.

A poem,
Is a gift,
So you should treat it as one.
Sometimes you will receive one,
Sometimes you won't.

A poem,
Is a curse,
So be warry if you steal one.
Sometimes it will come back to bite you,
Sometimes it will just leave you fearing the possibility it would.

A poem,
Is a poet,
And those who are poets, are poetry.
Sometimes they strive for fame,
Sometimes they leave their work in random places under random names.

A poem,
Is a call in the night,
That echoes into the ears of those who are hurting.
Sometimes it heals them,
Sometimes it guides them to healing.

A poem,
Is optional,
But those who read them won't regret.
Sometimes we can't bear to read poems,
Sometimes we can only bear to read poems.

"Next patient, please!"  the night nurse says, hair red and teased
she takes one look at me and says "you're barely in one piece... you're right for coming to the Hospital for broken hearts, sweetie- you'll be seen in a minute, fill out these forms and have a seat"

The papers ask for his name and the color of his eyes
it asks when I knew I loved him and if I knew how much he'd lie
it asks me to tell them in detail the first time I touched him and I think about how it was his thigh- it's hard to read the questions when these tears are blurring my eyes- looking at what I've written... I can't believe this is the same guy

The wounds I have are so severe
you would think I got them from falling ten stories swinging from a chandelier
and when the doctors ask me "how exactly did this happen?" with nothing in their eyes but fear
I'll say "I fell in love with a boy, he said he'd make me a wife and a mother and we'd grow old together over the years"
but their eyes will soften, they'll put down the machine that makes them say "clear!" and say "oh sweetheart, you fell for the oldest trick in the book and the smoke in the mirror"

and as I'm being stitched back together
I'll think of how I truly did want to be with you forever
I'll think of all the ways you could've been better and all the times I lost my temper
I'll think of the rising and falling of our chests and all the pleasure
and how it was so hot it smoldered like embers
I'll think of when it was just me and you- or at least try to remember.

solution trickling intravenously like these memories of whispers and fingertips touching my skin in the dark
memories of  how even when given all the answers we'd still miss the mark
wishing I could pick up the phone and call Florida and ask to speak to Kathryn Stark
wishing we could go back to that night in August when we first kissed in the park

The doctor just left, I got my diagnosis
I covered my ears because I wasn't ready to know it
we will never move as two and one again smoothly like osmosis

I was told  I will never recover to ever be strong enough to be your lover, and in a fraction of a second I felt every cell in me start to rupture

There is no ifs or when
now all that's left is thoughts said in pasted tense
all that's left between us is talking about "back then"

I'll disappear into the ether from whence I came
but please don't forget my smile, my laugh, the way my hair smelled or how you kissed me in the rain and also please don't forget the flame that kept us plenty warm for 1,946 days

I remember praying to you, and you did not answer.  
I was told God listened to His children,  
But you sure didn't listen to me.  
I was told to fast so my prayers could be answered quickly,  
I starved myself from food, fed only on prayer and faith for days,  
Hoping for some good but only ended in the hospital.  
You didn't answer.  

My clothes were drenched in tears,  
I felt myself dehydrated.  
I prayed from dusk till dawn,  
But still no answer.  

That pain I felt isn't there anymore.  
Not because things are finally looking up,  
It's because I'm losing faith.  
I feel numb to all the pain.  
You weren't there when I needed you the most.  

All those people lied to me when they said you come in times of need.  
They said if God doesn't answer,  
It's because He knows one can handle it.  
But here I am thinking that my definition of "handle" and His aren't the same.  
Unless, if wishing to die, isolation, and sh is His definition,  
Then I guess I'm handling everything perfectly.

I cried again last night,
I just hate doing that.
I hate how uncontrollably my tears fall,
How they just roll off my eyes, smash my pillow at free will,
While I try with all my might to not let the sounds of cry escape my lips.

I hate feeling so helpless,
I hate the dampness of my pillow in the morning,
I hate that I have to wake up before everyone else so I can fix my eyes,
I hate that I made this my norm.

Honestly I'm tired...
I'm tired of hiding my pain,
I'm tired of hiding my sadness,
I'm tired of hiding my anger,
I'm tired of hiding my breakdowns.

I don't want to be the strong one anymore.
No one checks up on the strong one.
I don't want to live under these assumptions of being a fighter,
I can't even hold up a fist.
I don't want to be dealt these cards anymore and be told to just make it work.

I'm tired,
I am so so tired.
I'm exhausted.
Just... depleted.

There are two types of people,
The wind and the leaf,
Guess which one am I...

I'm being blown in all different directions by this wind called life,
Destined to wilt and fall on the ground.

But I guess we're all leaves after all.
We start of as a bud, unfurling into a vibrant green leaf.
As seasons change, we turn to brilliant shades of red, orange, or yellow, before falling to the ground.

But the difference is there are those who live like the wind and those who are like me.
Who only get to rest when there's no wind,
Get peace when there's no wind,
Be in control when there's no wind,
But that's like saying when there's no wind, there's no life.
When there's no life, I'll live.

You'll linger.
Like a bad smell.

Like a ghost.
Haunting my mind.

You'll hide.
In every corner.

Never seize to exist.

Memories will play on repeat.
Memories will play on repeat.
Memories will play on repeat.

You see once you touch a person.
They'll never ever leave you alone.

Hurt people will hurt people.
That's just the  way life goes.

You'll linger like a bad smell.
You'll linger like a ghost.

Once you mark somebody.
You mark them forever,

I guess you didn't know.
I guess you never cared.

Just how much touch.
Would sting my skin.
Would scorch my mind.

Memories will play on repeat.
Memories will play on repeat.
Memories will play on repeat...

I wish there was a  rewind.
Instead I'll settle for a pause.

Knowing you can't get to me.
At least not now not anymore.

In solitude I retreat,
a hermit seeking solace.
Depression, my companion,
wrapping me in its Melancholic shroud.

I sever threads of connection,
Words become heavy stones,
and I carry them alone.

If possible, I seek forgiveness for my withdrawal,
For it is not you I flee from,
but the tempest within that threatens to consume me.

When storms rage, I seek refuge
in the caves of my mind,
where echoes of past battles revive.

But know this, my tender-hearted muse,
Your tears are constellations,
each drop a universe of hurt.

I ache to see your face again.
Yet my hands tremble,
afraid that their touch will unravel storms.

So here I stand silent,
Know that my withdrawal is not apathy,
but a dance of desperation.

When the tempest subsides,
when I emerge from my self-imposed exile,
I'll trace constellations upon your skin, and
and whisper, "I was lost, but now I'm found."

For in silence, I seek healing,
and in your eyes, I find my North Star.