Poems of a broken artist

Love for her.

The way she was broken, half of a whole before she could form sentences, before her voice was there, before she had opened her eyes. 

But he wasn't there. 

The first heart break was from a father, would be father, could be father, would have been, could have been.

The second was when she realized that the "father figure" her mom loved was not a good person, He was a hypocrite, a liar, a manipulator, a fake.

The third was from the world, in of itself. The way she needed to talk, walk, look, see, and hear. The way she couldn't talk or see or hear bad but that was the world. The way she had to act and walk and look just to not be looked at like a monster. The way the world put voices in her head and images of "perfection". 

The forth, oh god.. the forth was the most painful. Someone she trusted, someone who knew everything about her, someone she could look at and love, was supposed to love. Herself. Her forth heartbreak was no boy, no man, it was Herself. She Broke Her Own Heart For Others.

We let words have a meaning in our head. These little letters stringed together to form noises we call words, we give them all the meaning in the world. Then tell others to ignore the mean ones. 

The mean ones stick with us more though, you forget the face, the name, the sound of the voice, but never, Never the words. They stay in our mind, the back of our thoughts, waiting, watching, till you get better than they ruin everything. 

Because We Give Them Power. Little sounds, we give them so so much power over our mind, heart, and soul. 

Why not let ourselves ignore the words of baby's who can't let others be happy. 

Let's just ignore them. 

Leave them and not let them hang around. 

Let it go. 

And live how you want while being who You want.