Some people describe pain as a learning experience, as 'poetic tears that fall like raindrops'. It's all bullshit. The only pain I know, is salt burnt skin as your tears dry on your cheeks. It's chasing your dreams whilst you sleep and waking up every morning to a cold home. It's bruises, it's blood, it's tears and it's darkness. It's feeling alone, feeling helpless and it's giving up. Don't you ever tell me that pain, is pretty. Don't you ever try to convince me that pain is beautiful, because beauty doesn't take loved ones away. Beauty, doesn't make loved ones commit suicide, and beauty isn't the cause of nightmares. When I wake with tear streaked mascara or walk around in summer in long sleeves hiding faint red lines; would you still call my pain beautiful?
***
Don't call me 'your baby', don't call me 'your sweetheart' and definitely don't call me 'your princess'. Yes, maybe I will be someone's baby one day, someone's sweetheart and maybe even someone's princess.
But, I will never be yours.
***
You can't be fixed by the same person who broke you. You left and I learnt to fix my fucking self. You left and I learnt to live. You left and the world carried on turning and took me with it.
***
It's 1:17 am and I feel dead inside; all because I remembered your smile.
***
I don't feel the love I felt for you before, and it's both brilliant and terrifying.
YOU ARE READING
Confessions of a shitty poet.
PoetrySome of my poems contain bad language/sensitive issues and therefore I have changed the setting to mature and issue a trigger warning. I am forever updating this book, it will probably never be finished.
