The sound of a heart breaking
Is louder than the headphones make your music
Louder than the siren alarm of a fire
Louder than the scream of the executed mind
Louder than the engines on the takeoff to the bloodred sky

But it is misunderstood
Simply because you are the only soul
Who can hear your heartbreak.

I made a mental note that the way that you were looking at me was different.
I told myself to forget it.
Maybe you were just having an off day?
Everyone has off days, so what?

But then it continued.
Consistency had never been so terrifying.

When we first met, you saw me as a sad girl who rarely spoke.
Then, when I spoke, you saw me as a sadder girl that could sometimes make a good joke.

When I looked at you, I saw a beautiful, but misunderstood soul.
When I looked at you, I imagined a galaxy, your freckles spread throughout your body like the stars.
When I looked at you, I saw mischief.
When I looked at you, I saw my lifeline.

But you never looked at me, in love with my smile--
you never looked at me, in love with anything about me.

You weren't in love.

And maybe I was and maybe I wasn't,
maybe every person who is older than us is right and I'm too young for that.
But what I felt...
It was real.

I know it was real.
I've analyzed my emotions a thousand times--you know me, I have--
and I was nothing but honest and raw with you.
I wasn't putting on a show for you, acting, like I did for everyone else.

No, you were the one doing that.

You told me I was beautiful when I was sweating rivers.
You told me I was brilliant while I failed Algebra 1 three years in a row.
You told me I was better than Emma Stone and that weird British guy with the funny name.
You told me that you felt the same way about me as I felt about you.

You made me feel like every ****** thing about me was magnificent and beautiful,
like I could make no mistakes.
I know now that that is not the case.
I think I was the only one of us who actually believed it anyway.

Intentionally or not, you fooled me into believing that you would be there for me when I felt doomed.
I believed that I finally had someone to trust completely.
I realized, alone in my living room, that you wouldn't be drying my stupid fat tears...

So I cried for hours.
I laid my cold and sorrow-heavy body on the carpet and wept.

I loved you so purely, truly; I promise you that.

But you owe me nothing for not feeling the same.

Disappointment is thrown strongly at my direction.
Blame gathers in large quantities like a pest infestation.
"It's your fault" and words like "You always make mistakes" evoke anger.
Anger which I want to take out on myself and take out on others.
I can excel in my work of choice, I know I'm more than average.
The bad gets pointed out more and little praise is given for the good.
Stunned by unmoving words. I'm like a prisoner sentenced to jail, released and expected to do worse.
Destruction emerges from my enraged emotions, i wish your words could offer a solution.
I want to be an alchemist and turn things into gold.
It's ironic how I am a creator of words but cant create better words in my critics.
Conversations lead to arguments because i want to be heard.
I'm sick of revolving doors, sick of being slammed by your atrocious comments.
"You have no common sense" you say to me, maybe I just prefer to be in a daydream, my mind drifting away because life is too dull.
Realize that what you say has an effect and that effect can drive somebody or stop them in motion.

woe to the happy poet
for soon
he shall find his well of inspiration dry
because one can write about
sunshine smiles and blue butterflies
for only so long

let us cheer then
for the lonely
for the heartbroken
for the misunderstood

they fester in unrequited love:
they love the world
but the world does not love them back
and they spend the rest of their days
grieving about it
in the prettiest words

Vulnerable is what I am
When I let the real me outside
It's not safe, sometimes, to be so carefree
Should I risk hurt, or play safe and hide?

But people who love me keep asking me
To open my heart up to them
I don't know why that's so uncomfortable
I guess vulnerable is not what I am

The few times I've worn my heart on my sleeve
My words never came out right
So I've practiced being less vulnerable
And kept my real thoughts out of sight

People keep saying to use more words
But I fear I'll be misunderstood
Maybe I won't express myself right
Or I'll say way more than I should

Words, I've found, are containers for thoughts
I don't know why I sit here and hoard them
When I store them unspoken, my thoughts sit unused
Unshared—a container unopened

It's a little like having a pantry of food
And keeping it all to myself
Food's meant to be shared, and if it is not
It helps no one—just rots on the shelf

And that's how it is with my words kept inside
If love doesn't share them some way
My thoughts stored inside these containers called words
Can spoil and turn bitter someday

I used to complain that people didn't understand me
And for that I would silently resent them
But the silence, I now see, is of my own making—
If they don't know me, it's because I haven't let them

At the top of the hill you hold my hand
You try to convince me but I don't understand.
I thought what we had was love all along
But I guess it grew old like a favorite song.

Part of me doesn’t want to write anymore (or is it anything?).
Am I just afraid to drag my emotions across this page?
My words tend to come back black and blue,
misunderstood from the most ridiculous points of view.

Should I end communications?
Though the shadows in my closet offer no verbal retaliations.
For better or worse, at least my ego’s not hurt
from a mad world’s projections.

But I don’t want to be the lonely one
hiding along the edge of the room,
surely looking broken to some,
while others wait for me to come undone.

Give me a minute and I’ll return to center ring.
Maybe it’s just the thought of a crowd that I find overwhelming.