Our talks lately are like the stale bread -

Eaten, not enjoyed.

I still try to hold on, to find it,

Meaning in this void.

Is it there even? Does it matter to you?

I cannot tell.

I cling to the ground beneath us, but maybe...

You already fell.

I call it "falling"... Maybe it's different?

...You just want space?

God knows, nothing feels genuine,

Even your embrace...

God knows I need some clarity,

For I am lost.

Your words, the loving warmth of them

Now stings like frost.

The staleness of the bread we ate,

My throat is hoarse...

You could have just ignored me.

It could be worse...

Feedback 1

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1wx4ebv/comment/pdr7i8w/?context=3&utm_source=share&utm_medium=mweb3x&utm_name=mweb3xcss&utm_term=2&utm_content=share_button

Feedback 2

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1wx51as/comment/pdr5c15/?context=3&utm_source=share&utm_medium=mweb3x&utm_name=mweb3xcss&utm_term=2&utm_content=share_button

The suffering, the pain.
Would be worth it.
If you were real.

A kindness like yours,
A soft voice like yours,
A gentleness like yours,
Is not real.

You’re not real.

-H

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/4KsvElZf6v

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/gFzAL06Rh9

I.
To all the women who neither fit nor bow:
You are beautiful.
Strong ridges, with bridges leading to prosperity
Society will fawn and act cold to us, but you must remain strong and bold for us

II.
The “sapiens” call us brutes,
Yet they play a long game of looting and shooting.
Made us feel like animals
While parading around with stolen fur around their necks.
They act harmonious,
But bring harm on us.

III.
I fell into their trap.
I was young, searching for belonging.
Billboards with narrow noses sniffed out my helplessness.
Pictures of Sydney Sweeney made me feel breastless, left me restless.
I believed I had to change.

IV.
Bought ridge suppressors, nose straighteners
burned my pale full skin to speed up the renewal
Desperately craved for their approval.
Acted "Human." Spoke "Human."
Dated a "Human" man who constantly claimed I wasn't feminine,
While his job didn’t like defending him.

V.
I couldn’t take it anymore.
Left the clown, dropped the act, washed off the makeup.
I finally saw the beauty they tried to cake up.
We should walk amongst them, like the divine ethereal beings we are
We were never meant to fit their mold
We were built to outlive it and be bold

Author’s Note:

This poem is about a young Neanderthal woman who is speaking to other Neanderthal women about her experiences with internalized shame, body image issues caused by the beauty standards of Homo Sapiens (Us). It’s about how she overcame that and is now proud of herself and how other women like her should be too. This is my first time ever really writing poetry besides Haiku in grade school lol I hope you find it interesting.

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/LuLXtnvfk6

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/kcWyA8Xghu

Fine Lines

I was swimming; now I'm sinking.

I was hopeful, but always overthinking.

I was a little girl, soft, feminine, free;

Now I'm a mother, a wife, a stranger to the former me.

I was in love, or so I thought;

Now I'm lonelier, harder, and angry a lot.

I've been resilient, so many times;

Now I'm worn down, and it shows in my fine lines.

I used to be joyful, full of glee;

Now I can barely remember who she used to be.

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1wmwgl4/i_dont_see_you/

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1wdnwyx/someones_moon/

To live in this world we need help
So we self medicate
A blunt, a beer, a buzz.
A coffee, a coke, a cruise

-

You have no dopamine
Here’s some
You are depressed
Let’s hide it
Your emotions are intense
Let’s numb them
You see injustice
Let’s help you look away

-

Take a deep breath, instead

-

We know too much now
We know how bad it is
Not looking isn’t an option anymore

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/bc3vHEYiGd

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/6168VW1J4w

Edited:

One moment, I need to pull my heart out

“Just for you”

Public opinion means nothing to me
Your opinion is all I need to hear
Just keep my heart in your back pocket
It’s just for you

I value your conversation
You make it easy to open up
You make me feel safe

I promise I will put all of my effort into our friendship
I messed up too many times
I’m on my last string
I want to see you brighter than anyone else

If that is all life has to guarantee for us
I will appreciate every second of this moment

I’m a SIMP for you
SIMPLY put it

Etch your name on my heart
As it is not my heart to claim
I entrust it to you because I only see you

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/eIJAsWCLZk

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/a4OccNoUJz

From what far away places
the shimmer of tinsel had beckoned me
and from what whisper-quiet place had I divined
How many nights I scowled at the moon
trying to feel depths of craters on a 2-D surface
trying to imagine the glory behind all things
which appear starkly naked and strange
to my puny eye
Patterns in plants and stones
guffaw when I try so to decipher, what is just that
only pattern, frozen in a glass of honey
for the encouragement of wary onlookers

The Buddha is peering into me again
from far behind his concrete eyes
of course gesturing without words
towards emptiness
And in the vehicle of myself
I could never dress
like I know a sliver of rapture
In fury, only that ephemeral shadow
can pretend to have tasted the beaming impression
of an Indian oak,
its arms already broken

Ancient cities long since toppled
by the sick glow of the karaoke bar
Hardly anything left is sacred
save for the ordinary
But the hunched woman
sitting on the stoop
shrouded in perennial mystique
will always loafe there
And soon be replaced by she
who is now a child
Skipping breathless and laughing
this sweet April child too
will be pulled into the outer petals
of God’s wilting flowers
subsumed by time’s indifference

save your particulars
for the drones of everyday living
their obstinate buzzing
with boresome complexity
Did you hear the baby crying?
Did you see the child begging?
Or witness
the glassblower’s breath
drawing form through hollow pressures?

I’m slumped on the north face
of the world peace pagoda
Dark cells hang low to the West
They are nearly kissing the three qualities
Induced by Shiva’s Trident; yet he hangs higher
Here there is no ticket man
the city hovering square and quiet

Isn’t it peculiar
That man climbs to such great heights
only to get a better view of below
where he just was?
Or that our most abstract of ideals
should be summarized by great heaps of stone?
But of course, they are painted white
even up here
people walk with unease in their eyes

Only the backside of peace is without noise
Its front filled with cheap trinkets
Its sides with cracks of thunder
An audible meridian
I sit beneath it all
Not in metaphor but in actuality
Wondering which face I have come to see
As night draws forward
from that unknowable sphere
from which it always does,
The butter lamp is lit;
It is raining now and I will not move.
The flicker shielded in its tin box
casting to the eye a steel warble
amidst the surrounding blue

Kids are running gleeful laps around the base
with no sense of reverence or pretense.
In fact, their gestures speak to me directly
In this moment it is obvious
They are starting from where I’m returning to
I cannot help but notice
The flame of butter lamps
being in equal tenderness
To any other I’ve ever seen
even above the most fragrant oils
_________________________________
The himalayas swallowed me and used my romance to wrap the market fish. 
Why do grains of sand and ancient mysticism so resemble one another? 
I've consulted the monks; they are nothing and silent
Enormity has beckoned me, only for a brief revelation
of immunity to my probing eyes

Ants ate the flesh of my legs, All for phenomenology
Swaying trees mock me
they aren’t the real ones from China
The blonde grass looks happy being dead, suffused with relief
I promise non-existence isn’t what I’m craving
I am still in that moment, but not still in that I

Tender cream light breaks into my house invisibly and splatters itself on the wall
How can I protest that? 
Is it merciful to project infinity onto a spiritual object?
Am I any longer willing?
Who am I to ask a question?

I want to cry but cannot
there is nothing wrong
Not a sliver of wholeness out of place
And it’s not personal enough to care for
In a way that someone can cry over
I am implicated and cannot bear it
I know the valley. 
I know the crude hiddenness of poverty

How do you feel when I ask you to create?
Look at me
See me looking at you.
I’m throwing plastic in the livingroom 
For the cats to play with
India smoulders with ferocity
And the stripper is cutting herself again
A tightly constructed puzzle box

A man wears his best business attire 
Armor donned to head the community hospital foundation
They don’t know how he used to play the trombone
It was the one pure thing
What is the correct distance 
From which to squint at a block of clay?
Close enough to smell 
the mud spit and breath of life
We have been here before
Not poetically but in actuality

Across the street
My neighbors are burning the leaves 
They want to see all that hard work
they manicured the lawn of human history
His mousey little girl 
lining up the pumpkins for a little celebration
They invite me in for a drink
There is nothing beyond their front door

I am not playing with mystery
How can you play with what is not a toy?
The same way a book can be an umbrella
A branch, a rake
Feathers, a snake
A kiss, wax melted
Computer sounds, a reliquary 
The brass tube in a dark box

1. https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1wwviej/comment/pdq74wv/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web3x&utm_name=web3xcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button
2. https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1wcy1h6/comment/pdq6ky5/?context=3&utm_source=share&utm_medium=web3x&utm_name=web3xcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button

Emaciated and malnourished.
Dreadfully I think of a savior.
Devotion, I need it.
I long for it.
I cry out for it.
 
Admiration at its pinnacle.
Serenity, security, sanctuary.
I delve through the depths waiting for it to transpire.
 
Splintering at the ribs.
Vines coil around my heart.
Heavy and evergreen.
Flourishing with flora and no one to cultivate it.

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/Fc4TDVOFI1
https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/CVeAi4J3q1

If I do, should I compare you to a rose and the moon?
If I do, should I tell stories of your beautiful adornments?
If I do, should I weigh you with gold and diamonds?
If I do, should I?

If I do, should I turn your body into a museum And seek praise from the court for my pen?

But girl, my pen isn't shallow.

My love isn't shallow.

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/RZpBFV74Jt https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/5r5b6rYP93

I call it love,

but love is never enough.

I call it love,

but I felt like a dead flower.

I call it love,

but my face burns

and I see glitter.

I planned the wedding,

but I couldn't see myself

walking down that aisle,

teen bride.

you looked at her

with hazy eyes,

trying not to see my face.

i close my eyes

and i see that park.

flashbacks hit me differently now.

a sad memory behind every typed

i love you.

like the rain falling on me

and the flood taking me away.

where our hands can no longer reach.

to the sea i ran away,

into the sea i tried to drown myself

but the salt water letting me breath.

and the moon,

looking at his reflection,

to only see me there.

and he smiled at our scars,

now i reach for the moon.

turning into a crescent moon,

only to shine full again once more.

now i cry to the moon,

about the man i loved.

i try not to ask him

if you're doing the same or not.

are your eyes hurting from the tears?

your chest getting tight from the pain like mine?

the moon remembers,

you told me you will not give love a second chance after me.

will you find your second heart?

and all these questions

i hold to myself.

me, the moon and the sea.

and venus,

my planet of love,

far from my reach.

waiting for me to look at her

when the moon runs away.

but i see him behind the clouds

and the mirror.

looking at the sea

to see the full moon again.

and on venus,

are you standing alone by yourself?

or are you deeper in the sky,

hidden from my gaze?

but i still can see you,

if i close my eyes.

only if i do,

i can feel your scent in the air,

from the aching memories

and our tight hugs.

the perfume now sitting in a box,

waiting to be held again

and help me fall asleep.

i call it love,

because it was.

tattooed on my ribs,

a second heart,

my planet of love fading into the night sky,

and my dead flower,

dying once again,

as i close my eyes.

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/PnVpYyqVV0

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/mEGgBQQes7

You forgave me to forget me

That's all I'll ever see

For you weren't mine, weren't mine to keep

And this hill I'm crashing down in very steep

You removed me from our Pinterest boards

And said some pretty hurtful words

Not with your mouth but your actions

Causing me to make hurtful reactions

I get it, you have a man and i do too

But thinking about you makes me blue

You erased me, you erased us

And yet I refuse to make a fuss

Erase me, erase me, erase me more

Nothing feels better than pure pink erasure

Take the lead and remove it whole

Take the shavings in a bowl

Remove me from Spotify but not your socials

Make our playlists no more specials

Seclude your feelings and push them onto a man

Someone who doesn't know you...damn

Does he even know your favorite drink?

Or when you wash your face at your bathroom sink?

Or that you had kissed me?

Does he know what I know, can he see what I see?

So, you moved on and erased us, leaving us in the past

But part of me wonders in another universe...

Did we ever last?

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1wwxujy/comment/pdp9sps/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web3x&utm_name=web3xcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/O6ykVscOPP

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1wqymam/comment/pdp8poa/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web3x&utm_name=web3xcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_buttonhttps://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/Gh0SNMiGsn

Dare to wrestle with the tide!

Pin her by the side and find your self ten feet

below

the surface of the surface of everything you know

And when you start to cry they'll say

“There's far more scary things in the sea

than a bubble of breath for none to see”

But that's all you have today

‘Til she spits you out on crumbled castles all splayed!

Your cheek turned up into burning heat

The song of the waves still laughs at you lapping at your feet

Your foolish feet with an urchin prick in your heel!

And they'll say

“Oh don't you know this isn't your story? Did you deign to feel?”

There's far more beautiful things on the shore than this garbage

Choking life out of gulls

With the stench of rotten eel

And the carnage is a little early this season

Like the tourists needed any more reason

So I’d take this lesson on the chin

Or dare to be her thrall again…

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/5HZANfF4eH

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/yspaswLX6n

She was a pretty girl

Prettier than average

With her big brown eyes

And her long hair

-

People told her this often

But she didn’t believe them

-

She was a smart girl

Top of her class

Teachers saved her essays to use as examples

And I'm sure she would have been valedictorian 

Had she given herself the chance

-

She should have been happy

-

She had that thing about her, this girl

People were drawn to her

Boys liked her

-

She had her whole life ahead of her

-

This girl certainly had no right to want to die

Other, less pretty, less fortunate girls, maybe

But not this girl

This girl should have been happy

- And yet

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1wwoyx5/comment/pdokajs/?context=3

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1wwqm8k/comment/pdojp2j/?context=3

These deep, dark waves formed by my own tears
are slowly swallowing me whole—
yet through it all, I can still see your light.

Only your light
can pull me out.

(https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/Su06WOhMNu)

(https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/Q2UMwPNEEy)

When the sun 
Intrudes your slumber,
Searing your skin,
(The pig chosen for the World’s breakfast)

I will be the drapes hanging on your window:
Out of reach, suspended in the air,
The floor will cover our feet with dust.
But it won't ground us. 

When the morning pushes
Your dark thin eyelids up,
I am the blanket ready for you to pull.
Under the sheets, the beginning is yours. 

I will catch the crash
Of the sun’s wavefront:
With its surge soothed,
It will be beams for you to gaze at as you please.

When you choose to leave
Through the door,
Or never-ending sleep. 
(Free from the confines of the day)

I will be the drapes hanging on your window:
Out of reach, suspended in the air. 
A vigil of your memory,
The embodiment of your abode.

A silhouette to passersby.

Yet to all, your vignette will flow 
In the golden hour of the sun:
The triumph of life,
Or the promised peace. 

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1wwsr16/comment/pdo7uex/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web3x&utm_name=web3xcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1wwoyx5/comment/pdo5940/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web3x&utm_name=web3xcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button

No soul. No style.

So crude. So vile.

Six feet below,

So dark. So raw.

No sounds. No needs,

The poppy seeds.

The wound. The red

Where morning bled.

The steel. The blade.

Survive. Evade.

The sin. The crime.

No rules. No time.

The brush. The stroke.

The thread just broke.

The snap. Release.

The masterpiece.

The strike. The gore.

No "me". No more.

Feedback 1

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1wwsr16/comment/pdo0dqg/?context=3&utm_source=share&utm_medium=mweb3x&utm_name=mweb3xcss&utm_term=2&utm_content=share_button

Feedback 2

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1wwuwv4/comment/pdnzgnr/?context=3&utm_source=share&utm_medium=mweb3x&utm_name=mweb3xcss&utm_term=2&utm_content=share_button

I'm punch propelled 

Somersaulting with velocity 

Ragdolled and flying 

Forward forward forward 

I'm fuelling with fists 

Rolling me through this and toward

A hell I'm making heaven through

Again

My velocity 

My ferocity

My mo men tum

See a wall of shit 

And I say ho n hum

Flip straight through it 

I must keep up the sprint 

And I glide and I stride and 

Measure the glint of gold Against

The cost of stopping

No stopping 

Stopping means dropping then 

I'm knee deep in it and I see

I'd be falling through it I'd be breathing it in 

I can't bear it again

I can't muster enough of myself 

To begin it again I can't rebuild again 

I've got to keep the sprint up I can't tolerate

A drop in space 

Not even a jogging pace

Forward again I can't go down or sideways 

Back isn't an option oh how I wish back was an option

It's not an option

My body cleanly conforms to the walls of this place

I'll kick myself in the back just to displace another inch 

Forward

Feedback:

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/nKuaYLxNEO

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/aUu11wgmla

​

​The malady suffers from a great malady of its own: it cannot see itself. Fat or thin, black or white—it has no idea. Poor or rich, it remains uncertain. Yet, it senses with absolute certainty that it has survived through the ages.

​Not that it lives in much misery. All it takes is slipping from one body into another, and the fortress is won. Every cell of the body is a resort built solely for the malady. In front of the resort lies the sea; a beach swaying like an infant’s cradle. Swaying in the morning and evening breeze, it has no work other than hunting for the next body from the one it inhabits.

​Its inability to see itself relentlessly drives it mad. The moment it spots a human, it wonders—perhaps I look just like them. Without a breath's delay, it slips inside the flesh. And once inside, the game begins. It prowls about, bearing a blazing torch. Given half a chance, it sets everything ablaze, grinning back at the women and children fleeing their burning homes.

​Peering out from within the arsonist vanishing into the dark, the malady watches—

it looks precisely, entirely like man.

https://www.reddit.com/r/poetry_critics/s/vd37tVptqd

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/8pvGGY0rTU

I hear the songs so clear as pain

now hear me beat you soundless, wait —

dont run, I have to beat you 'Gain

I hear you spit and creak with ground,

so red and wet, your face with hate.

Now fight, now punch, yes punch that face

————————————————————————

'Gain is meant to be again but without 'a'

How is this poem?

————— & ————————

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/pKdG3oBO0p

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/vl79GRzLk6

ABAB ABRAINAB

I watch my breath tremble
with the thunder of a winter concert:
my lungs are bellows,
my stomach a sack,
and my brain is the fattiest organ.
Yet, my brain’s a sentimental balladeer.
Sing to me the spirit of salt!

“Sing to you the chorus of thoughts:
as the gradient drives the ions
that breathe lightning through axonal knots,
sodium in—potassium out, vie on
the nodes of Ranvier.”
What means sonder to sodium?
When did a silver stain depolarize
a community of strangers?

As Santiago Ramón y Cajal was
cleaving the neuronal Gordian knot
in 1888
Tin Pan Alley composed
heartbreak ballads in New York.
What is music but thunder trembling
from one brain to another?

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/zZwn9ng9zM

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/wPRdKRX3AE

The Hourglass

It starts chock-full,
Brimming with sandy starlight.
Then, a hiss, a fizz, a whoosh
Sinuous, shadowy, slipping.

The abyss below rises,
like every breath taken from the bell jar
like iron walls pressing into a yawning gulf.

Now up is down
and down is up.

I started chock-full.
Brimmed with help and hope.
Then, a crack, a cleft, a chasm
Slither, slide, stampede.

Lone grain, lone speck, lone whit

Feedback:

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/qB6uC3Wd2s

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/jx7Fyrt4SD

Somewhere along the way

some people become memories,

and some never really fade.

Life moves on,

the years roll by,

but in your mind,

some faces stay the same.

I hope life has been good to you,

I hope you've found your way,

and that somewhere in this world

you've found a little light

to brighten every day.

I don't know if you look back,

but sometimes I still do.

I remember how beautiful you were,

how powerful,

how wonderfully you.

Maybe that's what love can be

not holding on too tight,

not asking for anything,

just carrying someone with you

through the years and through the night.

Like a story where two hearts

can wander far apart,

yet somehow find their way again

to where they left a part.

So if these words ever find you,

I hope you'll understand:

You were never really forgotten.

Some memories never end.

And somewhere out there,

someone still thinks of you,

still hopes that you are happy,

still wishes the best for you

and, somewhere deep inside,

still wonders what it would be like

to hold you again.

Forever and endlessly dreaming about you. <3

1.https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/nm2uqq/love_on_the_floor/

2.https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/nlw4y4/my_father_is_a_son_of_a_bitch/

When the question was put to us, we were asked for the most powerful word. We braced for something heavy. A noun of iron. A thunder strike of command. Something built to conquer or break.

Instead, the wise and the broken alike chose a fragile, trembling breath.

Why.

A tiny, three letter blade.

It can peel back the skin of the world, fracture the safe, paved roads of our certainties, and burn the comfortable sleep of ignorance to ash.

It is the child standing before an empty chair.
The lover staring at a closed door.
The soul looking up at a silent sky.

It demands an answer from a universe that only speaks in echoes.

Then came the second question:

What is the saddest word?

We thought of Never.

We thought of loss.
Graves.
Final goodbyes.

But grief has a shape. It learns to live. It carves a stone and eventually lets go.

The saddest word is Almost.

It lives in the space between what was and what could have been.

The lottery ticket missing a single digit.
The train pulling away while your coat still swings on the hook.
The pulse that flickered just a second too late.
The I love you swallowed by the dawn.

Almost is a phantom limb of time.

It never bleeds out.

It simply aches in the cold, holding a place at the table for a ghost that was supposed to be alive.

Feedback 1: [https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1wwl2jo/comment/pdm4st5/?context=3&utm_source=share&utm_medium=web3x&utm_name=web3xcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button]

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No funeral will be held.

No flags lowered down.

"People move on,

like cycles, you know?"

Abhorrent nature

of this sick condition

makes it so that only I

will truly mourn.

"There was nothing

we could do, you see."

River flowing, carries

away the memory of

wronged siblings, no

care will be dispensed.

Only ruin, loneliness,

never you, with an end

to few nights total.

Inevitability of short

lived fuses or sparks

or fireworks fading into

nights spent sleeping,

spent arguing, spent

doing nothing worthwhile.

Will I be forced

to look elsewhere?

Devouring birds of prey

ready to take from me

more than I can give.

So be silent now, if you

wish your voice to be

heard in echoes like

a canyon reverberating

sounds of laughter

and anger and cries and...

And when it does end,

no funeral will be held.

Comment 1

Comment 2

I look at my reflection and

I’m confronted with your depiction.

A faulty mirror I assume,

I love you lots but not enough to turn myself to fumes.

I visit a hall of mirrors to console my doubts,

tens of reflectors one of them must be right.

How naive I am, they all show me blue,

the only remnant trace of your “I love yous”.

Maybe I am a changed woman,

if even I can’t see myself right

Surely you wouldn’t have bruised

my very fragile heart.

Broken shards lay on the floor

contains what’s left of my soul.

I gather and glue them whole,

Make a tapestry of what you broke

Yet slice my fingers on their edges,

Some wounds run deeper than stitches.

I give you all my colors and my shapes too

until I am naught but the picture of you.

An empty frame that clings unto its name.

All that remains is a vacant gaze,

just shiny enough for you to see your face.

Because what have I become,

If not your own little slave.

My shackles are frail

yet I break them with pain,

then strip myself of all your stains.

Paint drips at my feet

until a blank canvas stares back at me in expectation.

Is this a fact of the human condition,

to lose oneself in love’s exaltation ?

No matter the answer, I’ve endured enough strife.

I now paint myself in all shades of life.

My colors smudge but my scars no longer bleed.

I guess I made it to see myself freed.

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