i finally updated!! and thank you so much for 4.9k reads and 1.1k votes!!! i really, really appreciate it. sending all my love.
                              also, this poem is a bit long. oops. 
                              -----
                              i haven't yet learned
                              the language of my pain
                              that speaks not in words
                              but in throbbing aches
                              rooted deep inside
                              like weeds with a heartbeat
                              
                              i haven't yet learned 
                              the language of my pain
                              that tells nothing of
                              my wounds
                              or how to trace them
                              back to the blade
                              and to who
                              wielded it before,
                              and if i am more
                              than this soul sadness
                              that even music
                              and its gentle hands
                              can't pick apart
                              with glissandos 
                              and grace notes
                              
                              i haven't yet learned
                              the language of my pain
                              or how to understand
                              the hurt that heals
                              without a scar
                              and how it should be
                              remembered
                              when there's no proof
                              of it ever existing.
                              was it ever there
                              if the crimson only spilled
                              against the ivory bones
                              inside
                              and never stained the ground
                              beneath your feet?
                              can a healed wound
                              without a scar
                              ever be forgotten
                              if i keep falling back
                              into memories
                              --the quicksand of them
                              holding on to me
                              and letting time
                              do the killing
                              in between the hours
                              of hushed midnight
                              and crowing dawn--
                              getting hurt
                              over and over,
                              trying to understand
                              what went wrong
                              and how love
                              became a language
                              i did not recognize,
                              and how pain
                              became as familiar
                              as my mother tongue,
                              how sewing myself
                              back together
                              took longer
                              than when you
                              ripped me apart,
                              severing my soul
                              into two,
                              taking half of me away
                              when you left
                              and set our forest
                              ablaze
                              with the matches
                              you kept between your teeth--
                              but first you waited
                              until i have forgotten
                              the burn of a fire,
                              the taste of ash
                              on my trembling lips
                              that only remember 
                              sweetness
                              not soot
                              
                              only then did you
                              bring the flames
                              to the haven,
                              only then did i mourn
                              the language of our love
                              in the leaves,
                              only then did i hear
                              the foreign words of pain,
                              watching your wildfire
                              consume us and the underbrush
                              with fiery breath,
                              and there are not 
                              enough words in the world
                              to contain it
                              
                              what hurts most
                              is that no one saw
                              the smoke
                              
                              love,
                              mari
                                      
                                          
                                   
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Poetrypoems for you. poems for the ex best friends and the lost 'forevers'. poems for the memories that burn and fade before burning again. poems for the emptiness that is heavy and hollow in hearts. poems for the fleeting, fiery moments of happiness that...
 
                                               
                                                  