*Here are some songs
that my heart sang.*
Broken, battered, but beautiful, I hope you get to see this book as I do. For it whispers secrets that were never said, and carries a bittersweet taste.
And a promise, of everlasting hope.
Lets trace these p...
P.S This is the longest poem I've written. The main idea and the image inside my head, Was too sharp, to be broken down in a short poem. I did try, but I gave up trying to make it sound that good. As long as I could write this down. I felt, like I could deal with readers, who find poetry this long a bother.
A few years back, I came across a story about a sinner in the monthly magazine we used to get from school. I feel like the story was well written, but it lacked emotions.
Writng this, I realized that I could actaully make it sound raw. The subject of sins is very simple, yet complicated at the same time. But the whole journey, Of being a sinner, then finding peace, Is too long, And surely more raw, Than I can make it sound.
So here, is a messy poem, I wrote, based on the unhealthy heart, of a sinner.
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I have been, Holding onto, An aching heart, Torn apart.
Pain was a taste, That I tasted, Quite often, Sheding tears, Uncountable.
Vastly unhealthy, Was my mind, A dark place, Where negetive thoughts, Haunted.
Each, A nightmare, Of it's own.
Each, The cause, Of pain, Too intense.
Delicate, Was I, In those days, A herione, Mistreated, By herself.
Sins lingered, On my skin, Thich, gruesome. Another cause, Of my tears.
How much I cried, I do not remember. Maybe, because, I cried too much.
Silent at times, When I let the tears slide down Quietly, But at other times, The very cries, Became wails.
How hard it was, To hold myself, When hated I, Every inch of myself.
Abused was my mind, Raped was my heart, I was, what I was, A direst sinner.
Days went, Hours passed, The thoughts inside my head, Become a mess.
I crumbled, Before my eyes. A person who still smiled, Yet also lied.
Said that I was okay, Hid my tears well. Let my face wear happy expressions, In perfection, While my heart burnt in hell.
Wounds appeared, Everywhere, Yet still, They reamined unseen, By everyone, Apart myself.
I stayed a sinner, Trying to hide my sins, But dying slowly, From whithin.
Till one day, Too tired to cry, I held myself, Trying not to think.
I found myself, Staring at the knife, In the kitchen, Wondering, Whether it woud hurt more, If I cut myself.
One inch, Was the very thought. Surely, It wouldn't be worse, Than the pain inside?
And maybe, One cut, Would make, People around, Notice, That I, A sinner, Hate my sins.
That I, A sinner, Hurt, Is dying.
Yet no, I never picked up the knife. Just stared, And thought, Until the pain, Became, Too intense.
Then, Gathering up, Myself, Hating, Every inch, Of my skin,
I hid, Away from searching Eyes. But inside, I wished, To run away.
Regret would then vist, At the hopeless gate, Of my hopeless heart, But it would arrive, A little, Too late.
By then, The damage, Would be done, The sins committed.
And bearly breathing, I would continue, To hate, Every horrendous inch, Or myself.
Days went, Years passed. I slowed down at times, But I started again, Faster.
I became a demon, Bleeding blood, Unseen always, The wounds ignored.
Not by anyone else, But myself. For I became, Too tired, A heinous mess.
And then one day, I slumped onto, My prayer mat, And prayed.
I begged, I wailed. I broke, I wept.
And at the moment, When I could hardly breathe. When I felt like dying, From guilt and shame, My prayer was heard.
Even now I wonder, How could it have happened. How could, a scorching ache, Set aflame, From several years, Die so quickly?
But it did. I wept, And as I begged, For forgiveness, A release from pain.
I found the crushing weight, On my heart, being lifted. And then I wept even more, From grief, From disappointment.
From guilt. From misery. From torment. From sadness.
And just like that. The pain went away. I sensed myself free, From my sins, From pain.
A long journey it was. A long walk, On the rood, Where I fell. Where I broke.
And yet still, Now though I'm walking, Far ahead, I still fall, hurting myself.
But I get up, I try. I try to set things right. And in just trying so, I have pulled free, From that pain, That grief.
