A Symphony of Heartbreak

She writes her tall-tales with her skin as a canvas and her blood as ink

When I was young, I thought that the stars in the sky were made just for me and the sun and the moon were my heralds. I believed that every blade of grass bore my name and every dust particle was my army. I was so sure that the universe was created just for me. Until 3rd grade. The first time I was told That I was ugly. And annoying. And that I have no friends. Nobody likes me. I'm a burden. I should disappear. ...I listened. Learned. Found out that I could put on a mask and hide how I felt from everyone.

Acted like I didn't care about what they said and how their words actually hurt me down&nbsp; to my soul. I forgot that the sun, moon and stars belonged to me. I forgot that I had&nbsp; an army to protect me. I forgot that&nbsp; every blade of grass bore my name. And for a while... I forgot that&nbsp; The universe was made just for me. It was mine. I lost a piece of myself when I forgot&nbsp; who I really am.

Juegas conmigo. gato y ratón, pensando que tienes el control. Empujándome y tirando de mí pero mientras juegas olvidas un detalle: cuando juegas con mi corazón y mis emociones te olvidas las tablas entre un gato y un ratón pueden rotar muy rápidamente. Estúpido idiota.

You play with me. Cat and mouse thinking that you're in control. Pushing me away and pulling me back. But while you play you forget one detail: When you play with my heart And my emotions You forget The tables between a cat and a mouse can rotate very quickly. Stupid idiot.

You left your handprints all over my body, yet you never touched me

I tried to pull out pieces of myself and turn it into something you would understand. Turn myself into that Rubik's cube so you'd have a chance of figuring me out. Or maybe break myself into puzzle pieces so you could piece together things that weren't broken shards of me, but rather pieces meant to be put together, not put back together. I took my multicolored self and tried to turn it into just one color so that it wasn't so

difficult to see. Because people want simplicity, not kaleidoscopes of wonders whose complexity is too much work to try to understand. I was one of those kaleidoscopes that you chose not to even attempt to comprehend. But my Rubik's cube was still too complicated. My kaleidoscope wasn't pretty enough; or maybe rather, too pretty to understand. You never wanted to even try. I'm just too complicated.

You asked me to paint your name among the stars. You asked me to tell your story to the waters. You asked me to throw your&nbsp; tall tales to the winds. You asked me to list the reasons I loved you. You asked me why. You asked me how. You asked me to love you. You asked me to fix you.

You asked me to never leave. You asked me to get lost in you. And I did. I was. But you didn’t. You asked me and so I gave you. I asked once and yet you never gave. You asked me to marry you. And I had to say no. You asked me why. But you already knew.&nbsp; You asked me-- But sometimes, I couldn't answer.

Artist Bio

I am a poet who likes to focus on emotions and the topics of mental health, heartbreak, and self-realization. Writing poetry has not only been an escape from the harsh realities of being a mentally ill teenager, but is also my form of self-therapy to express my deepest — and often uncertain — emotions. My mother has been writing poetry since the 9th grade and had published her first novel series when I was 13 years old. Her love for writing had inspired me to begin writing in order to express my emotions in a healthy way while I struggled to manage the onset of my anxiety and depression. When I write, I am forced to face the complexities of who I am and the ways I view myself versus how I really am. By being genuine in my writing, I allow myself to open up without worrying about the repercussions. I want people who read my work to be able to relate to the hardships and emotions in my poetry, and inspire them to learn from my experiences and use their own writing as therapy for their souls. I take my inspiration from my mother’s poetry. It’s so heartfelt and written with precision, skill, and deeper meaning than the obvious. It inspires me to write heartfelt, meaningful poetry because I want to express myself with depth without spilling my secrets.&nbsp; I am a sophomore at Manchester High School where I strive to be an athlete. Considering the COVID-19 pandemic, I have continued to be an active high-green belt at White Tiger Taekwon-Do. I love to spend my time reading various genres, writing poetry, song lyrics, and journaling. I also enjoy makeup, drawing, and pottery. I have participated in creative writing clubs, was nominated as a finalist at my 8th grade State Science Fair, and have won countless first place awards at international competitions for Taekwon-do. In the future, I plan on working as an English as a Second Language teacher and becoming a psychologist. It is my dream to publish my work for the world in hopes that my words may someday be the inspiration for other artists to expose their demons while using the words of an angel.

You tore me apart and yet you helped me grow up; I forgive you now.

I finally trust what had broken me before; open up to them.

Dedicated to those who forced me to grow up. Thank you.

Hands shaking violently Can barely type Eyes blinking hard Don't cry Biting my tongue Won't scream Breathing is shaky Can't breathe Body is shuddering Unable to think Attack It's attacking me It won't stop How can I make it stop? Make it stop

You give me balloons with smiley faces on them knowing my prickles won't let me enjoy them. You push and you prod knowing that the more you do so, the more spikes of protection and self defense will protrude from my skin. Because I can't let anyone get too close or else they'll take down my walls and soften my barbs and be able to get inside

my head and my chest so they can tear me apart from the inside and discover my darkest secrets and most painful memories. Anxiety isn't just being overly nervous. It's being in a constant state of terror of letting people inside because you just want to fit in.

A Symphony of Heartbreak by Ahjeiza Adrian

I want to write a slam poem. I don't know what about. Maybe judgement. Or pain.&nbsp; Or the way humans hide behind a mask because they're afraid of showing their pain&nbsp; for fear of being judged. Or maybe I can make it personal. Personal always hits. But I'm afraid of judgement. What if they laugh &amp;&nbsp; whisper &amp; point. I want to write my love story, but I don't have one. My love story is in shambles. I want to write a love note like in Beastly. How the Beast writes his love a&nbsp; lengthy, multiple-page letter confessing his love for her. I want to write a suicide note Not in tapes, but just as long&nbsp; and lasting as Hannah's were. I want to write my&nbsp; favorite lyrics down &amp;

make a song out of them. I want to write &amp; speak in&nbsp; their language so they can understand mine. I want to know-&nbsp; nay, experience&nbsp; their pain so they won't judge mine. I want to scream out to the world so I can be heard and understood. I want to find someone who'll dance in the rain with me. I want to find someone&nbsp; who'll laugh at&nbsp; nothing with me. I want to find someone to read my stories to. I want to find someone to give my soul to&nbsp; without any regrets. I want to be able to&nbsp; tell someone my love story. I want to be able to tell someone my story. But not everyone gets what they want.

As I sit in the lunchroom quietly eating my lunch an ocean of voices floods me and I begin to drown in the&nbsp; cacophony of words. I quickly put my earbuds in and let the sweet relief overflow the strong bass that reverberates in my chest and the smooth flow pouring in my ears and as I write. I am at peace.

For a time I was afraid to be kind. To just let the walls in my eyes come down even for a moment and tell someone that they were beautiful kind smart funny cool. But instead I was forced to hide behind this mask of cruelty. Cutting people down

with Samael's scythe that I had asked to borrow for a time so that I could learn to be wicked like the brutes I was forced to call "friends" so that I wouldn’t be cast out, banished from the&nbsp; Round table of savagery. I had gotten so used to the darkness that I didn't know how to live in the light anymore. I was afraid.

For a long time after I sat and stared out the window. I sat at the foot of my bed and contemplated things. I wondered about what happened and what could have happened. If things could have been unsaid; undone. I sat in the chair in the corner and wrote about everything that went down. I wrote every possible

outcome that could have happened if the circumstances had been different. I sat on the couch and wrote every future that could have been had things gone in another direction. What I might have done if I'd known what was going to happen. I'll never know, of course. But that never stops me from sitting and wondering what could have been.

Name

Safari may block some audio or video from playing automatically and ‘read to me’ will skip these. You can configure this in Safari’s preferences.