A Symphony of Heartbreak

The Author

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.

Missing Piece

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

Complicated

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

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
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.
You asked me--
But sometimes,
I couldn't answer.

Afraid

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
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.

What Could Have Been

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.

Anxiety

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.

I Want

I want to write a slam poem.
I don't know what about.
Maybe judgement.
Or pain.
Or the way humans hide
behind a mask
because they're afraid of
showing their pain
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 &
whisper &
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
lengthy, multiple-page
letter confessing
his love for her.
I want to write a suicide note
Not in tapes, but just as long
and lasting as Hannah's were.
I want to write my
favorite lyrics down &

make a song out of them.
I want to write & speak in
their language so they can
understand mine.
I want to know-
nay, experience
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
who'll laugh at
nothing with me.
I want to find someone to read
my stories to.
I want to find someone
to give my soul to
without
any regrets.
I want to be able to
tell someone my
love story.
I want to be able to
tell someone my
story.

But not everyone gets what they want.