Tag Archives: heartache

My Role in the World


If all the world is a stage:

Then I must be a bard.
Whispering sweet echoes
of words that never meant anything,
a fictional story from deceitful lips.
A promised tale of a forbidden kiss,
a song of glass shattered in cold white loss.
The quiet cooled, the coin my cost.
The whole world an audience
with clapping hands
or perhaps with scorn
for they don’t understand.
And scowls profaning cheeks
with soft pink blush,
shouting obscenities
that make me flush.

Then I must be an actress
with a painted face.
A smile, and tears
that I cannot erase.
A gown of gold, a crown of silver
in my hair,
and audience below me
without a care.
With other thoughts in mind
than who I really am.
Only eyes for the girl
that I must pretend.
And eyes for the man
that I do not love,
but the character I play
is written to must.

Then I must sing
with a sheltered voice.
Tempered too sharp,
feet without poise.
Words that mean less
than they do to me.
Because my audience
is too blind to see.
Heart on heart, I stand,
pouring out my soul;
if all the world’s a stage
then I must have no role.

Of Arrows and Archers


Pierced song and speared
into heart, into home.
Tread hunters down road
and loose cobblestone.
Predator to my mouse,
wolf to wandered lamb.
Have you any idea
how truly stumbled I am?
How truly wandered I felt
when I leapt off my path?
How truly curious it was
that I could just give up my past?

And on turrets built high
in castles dark grey
stand the archers of arrows
with eyes trained every day.
With a bow raised and poised
in each archer’s hand.
The words, “proud and together,”
that only they understand.
And fallen warriors below
speared fatal in heart.
Could not survive the battle,
were torn apart.

And the wounded in battle
crawling on hands and knees.
Close to each other,
you stray close to me.
An arrow to the heart,
to yours and to mine.
Beaten black and bloody
by St. Valentine.
And the cherubs as his minions,
archers tall on the wall.
Given moments in battle
to watch the rest of us fall.
And to those who stand up,
arrow shafts in their chests.
Living stronger than broken
without the Hell of loveless.

You and I stand together,
leaning shoulder to arm.
Hands clasped together
the others on our hearts.
A salute to the archers
that wounded and killed
and brought us together
by sheer power of will.
A blown kiss to thank them
despite the life lost.
A gratitude for this love
despite the wounds it caused.

He Almost Kissed Me


I had a dream he almost kissed me,
as I pulled away, he said he missed me,
As I turned to leave, he tried to stop me
as I walked away, by my arm, he caught me.

He told me he was struggling to figure it out,
confided in me that he had begun to doubt.
Every time, it seemed, that he could turn around
he saw me there, he said, but to honor he was bound.

“Do you not love me?” he asked as if he wondered.
It was an answer I had not seconds to ponder.
I did not love him, will never, he was my blunder
and his deceit to her sent me asunder.

I told him he and I would never be.
He pulled me close and begged for me to see.
I pushed him away and asked he not touch me.
I crossed my arms and waited for him to speak.

He sighed and gazed into my eyes.
Opened his mouth, he asked, “What happened to you and I?”
“We never loved,” I said. “You were just blind.
What was never there cannot simply die.”

I turned my back and allowed a moment to fall.
I walked away and I left it all.
The past, long buried, to Hell with call.
I damned this moment, damned to a fault.

And then I woke to sweet home of old,
these fresh Hells, I was never told.
Illusion, only, that would not hold.
Life would go on, snugly in its mold.

Lost Innocence


I had hoped to sanctify your heart,
As a tomb wrought with fallen hopes,
My love.
Fallen hopes, my love.

Down aisles of stone faces
And leak-sprung tears
And spindle-spun gowns
On women of forgotten sorrows,
My love.
Forgotten sorrows, my love.

And pebbles tossed into blackness.
Echoing around you
With whispers of your ghosts,
Cold in your ears
Ice down your spine
Chills up your arms
And gusts of mist wafting
From the breath you release.
And they lie. Those whisperers,
Spiders under flesh,
Flies on the wall
Thieving rumors, evolving to truth
And convincing you.
They lie,
My love.
They lie, my love.

Skittering into your fragile heart,
Fangs poisoning your blood,
Coursing through every vein,
Another bad memory.
Another vulnerability.
Another insecurity.
Every fear you’ve ever had
Brought to light in the void.
It’s poison in your veins,
My love.
It’s poison in your veins, my love.

Only poison. Nothing more.
I long to press my lips to yours,
Draw it out, every last drop.
Take the poison into myself,
Suffer the lies myself,
Suffer the rumors, the fear, the vulnerability.
The guilt.
The guilt you never should have known,
My love.
The guilt you never should have known, my love.

To press my lips to yours and draw it out,
To promise she was wrong.
To fill myself with the tainted blood,
That you might be washed clean.
That you might return to the way you were
Before the evil spider bite
Rendering you ghosted in the tomb
Of your heart among the mistakes
Of your past, and present, and future.
Among the women in spindle-spun gowns,
Before God and judgment,
But before yourself and your punishment.
A face of yourself without mercy.
Have mercy
My love.
Have mercy my love.

That the poison might be permanent,
That the stone has already been thrown,
That the blood already spilled,
That I cannot take everything back,
That you cannot return to the past…

That you might never be naive again, my love.
That you might never be naive again,
My love…

My heart weeps for lost innocence.

You know, I really hate having to go around cleaning up everyone else’s messes. If it’s not one friend hurt, it’s another. I have no problem listening, no problem trying to help out. I am happy to do what I can to help my friends and loved ones. But when it’s one friend against another and they place me in the middle, and I’m stuck. Being me, I tend to stay on the side of whomever got hurt as opposed to whomever got angry. But when I’m forced to sit down and help someone because someone else in my circle of friends hurt him/her, I just get sick. Maybe that’s what I get for having friends so vastly clashing of each other.

The Master in the Sky


Her head holds high
on fish-line taut
with eyes that do not see.

Her arms to each side
never moving, not a motion;
everything is out of reach.

Her feet tread water,
splash clumsily in
but she cannot swim back to the shore.

Once, she was free
without puppet strings, or dark masters;
once, but forever nevermore.

As a kid, there is very little that is worse than being told no. As a teenager, I feel that the urge for independence is even greater. I cannot speak for the adult population, but I can speak from experience. I am a stubborn person. Tell me no, and I’ll do it. Tell me I can’t, and I’ll find a way. I have a bad habit of rebellion, to the point of lying, and cheating, and screaming, and fighting to get what I want. I guess I’m a little more than spoiled.

But what happens when you can’t get what you want? When all your life, you have been guided by the will of others. No control over any situation in your life. As I’ve already said in a previous post, I am petrified of losing control, so the idea of having my life planned out for me by someone else infuriates me.

And so, as an ode to all of the evil puppet masters of the world, and a song of sorrow to all of the puppets, I wrote this. At about two in the morning. While half asleep.

A Blind and Silent Search


He holds me in his arms, whispering platitudes of love
with the heartfelt, open denial of the world we’re dreaming of.
He holds my hands up to his face, and places on each a kiss,
tells me I’ll never be alone, in times so hard as this.

“Let’s play a game,” he suggests to me, with a smile on his lips.
“Hide and seek,” he says to me, with a certain noted bliss.
I fear, somehow. I doubt in him, though I feel I have betrayed;
the loose ends I keep tying up, are perpetually frayed.

“Close your eyes,” he requests, turning me around.
I feel his arms slip away from me, he leaves without a sound.
I close my eyes and count to ten, and twenty, and fifty-five,
and to a hundred, and larger still, and then open my eyes.

And yet, that darkness haunts me, as if my eyes were stitched up,
blackened void, and abyss before me, because my eyes stay shut.
I try to pull my lids apart, to see the scene I know is there,
to no avail, I soon discover, because somehow, I still have failed.

I open my mouth, I try to scream, but a whimper only comes out,
I say his name in whispered thoughts, I try desperately to shout.
I cry tears that can leave me, taunting as they fall
because they escape the darkness that plagues my world in awe.

I shout again, this time I’m heard, by my own ears only, it seems.
No one else comes to my rescue. No one else hears my screams.
I call his name, “It’s not a joke, I am stricken blind!”
“Save me!” I beg. “Come save me!” But I fear I’m left behind.

I stumble through the bushes, feel thorns scrape up my thighs
I catch my hands on roses, blackened as if they’d died.
And the stem, and the bush, and the trees, and the sky,
all void, all gone, disappeared to my eyes.

I call his name again, in vain. Begging to be found.
He doesn’t come to save me, I fall to the ground.
Gravel digs into my knees, I feel the warmth of blood,
I wonder if this is my end, if I shall lose in love.

I shake, I shiver, I hold myself, nothing compared to his arms.
I realize that this game we play was gambling in cards.
I threw a coin into the air, when I let him walk away.
There never was a guarantee he’d remain, a guarantee that he would stay…

This is based off of a nightmare I had a while back. Quite often I find myself blind in my dreams. I always seem to know what’s going on around me, but I cannot witness it, and I can’t do anything to change it. Honestly, I think I have these nightmares because one of my greatest fears is losing control over a situation, topped only by the fear that the people I love will leave me. I would say about once a week at least I have a dream where I cannot see anything. Slightly less often, I have nightmares of full-body paralysis, which I guess it more frightening to me because I am forced to watch what is happening, but do nothing.

This nightmare however was probably the worst I’ve ever had. It put together my two greatest fears and forced me to face them both at once. I know, you’re supposed to face your fears in order to overcome them, but this did NOT help me overcome EITHER. I woke up in the middle of the night drenched in sweat, and because I sleep in as dark of an environment as possible, I thought I really was blind. After turning on a light and realizing that I was okay, I had to text the guy it was about around three in the morning just to make sure that he was okay. It was exhausting and petrifying.

On the bright side, it made good fodder for poetry. See, when you’re an optimist, there’s ALWAYS a bright side. 🙂

The Only One You Thought to Save


A glance over the edge,
Shards of shattered below her
And bodies above her,
And all around her.
Her feet lose balance,
Her arms stretch
A bird without wings to the eye
A desire to catch up with the sky
But she falls.

Saved by the noose you tied
Around her pale white throat.
She lives.
She struggles and fights the bindings
And thrashes until she slows
And falls
And is gone
But never forgets.

I trek through a forest
Of hanging girls on your ropes
Blood staining white shirts
Above their hearts
And my hand covers my own
With fingers that just grace
The blood from mine.

Heartbroken too
But the only one you thought
To save.

A bit depressing, I realize, but it’s not as bad as it seems. It doesn’t have anything to do with a murderer pushing girls out of trees so that they can hang. It’s a metaphor describing the relationship between a boy who is caught in a web of girls who would do anything for his love, and the only girl he has any eyes for. The narrator has vowed for years that she would never falter, that she would never fall in love with him. However, some promises are impossible to keep, and she falls for him despite herself. Luckily for her, he loves her as well.

And before you ask, yes, I do relate to the narrator. Write what you know, the say.

This is mostly just an experiment with a poem without rhyme, to see how well I like it. What do you think?

And to the boy whom this poem is about: please stop blaming yourself. You’ve hurt yourself enough as it is. I love you with everything I am, and you don’t deserve to hate yourself.