i'm supposed to be
writing down the things that i'm feeling,
but instead, i've been staring at the blank paper and newly black pen that lays on my lap.
i'm trying to make sense of the chain of events,
but i keep trailing over to the left side of the bed , telling myself that i can't keep doing this.
my heart is trying to escape between my ribs to make its way back to you, just to tell you that you look good today.
i've never thought i would have to deal with red, puffy eyes until now.
i'm trying to drown your voice out,
but it's like a CD that's stuck in your radio.
i never felt my heart drop like an atomic bomb until it was 2pm and i was clenching my sheets, biting into my pillow, screaming until i didn't feel my lungs.
My voice, shot like a pistol in the middle of a busy highway.
i am told that i will be okay, that this feeling is temporary.
But how do they know that?
your name is not written on my heart in disappearing ink,
it is carved with a 6 inch blade in a giant oak tree.
Your emotions do not show,
but mine show like the flowers in spring.
i can't tell how you feel,
but i know that it probably isn't well.
I feel sick to my stomach thinking about the way you laughed last night,
and how we didn't say goodnight.
That "i love you" has become empty silhouettes in the pages of a book.
i don't want to sleep, because if i sleep
and i wake up
and this is all still happening,
i know that it's real.
That my screams have become violent whispers,
that my cries have echos,
and that your imprint of your body on the left side of my bed will eventually vanish like ice on a summer day.
YOU ARE READING
Poems for the soul
Poetryi've written poetry for awhile and i always wanted to share it, so here it is. [Poems inspired by the ones who hurt me, the ones who i've loved, the friend who broke me, and the ones stood beside me through whatever.] thank you to the ones i've love...
