Sometimes I write poetry.

Sometimes it's good.

[sometimesiwritepoetry8]

When is it my turn

To be sought out?

To be protected?

To be cherished?

When will I be loved

The way that I love?

It is pure agony

To bare my heart

And reveal my soul

Only not to be granted the same.

Who will come for me?

Fight for me?

Who will make me feel

The love I've never felt?

And do they even exist?

If only I could reach into the mirror

And embrace the woman

So desperate for what

She has never had.

[sometimesiwritepoetry8]

Who would risk the warmth

Of the light in the kitchen

And a cat in the window

For the girl standing in the rain

Outside peering in

Her final match spluttering

She may be pretty

But her heart's a mess,

Just another piece of landfillcore

So while he may open the door

And grant brief respite

Her pitiful figure

And mud-stained shoes

Don't belong on their well-worn rug

And she knows it

But at least for now

The secondhand love

Feels like home.

[sometimesiwritepoetry8]

YEARNING

It is a constant war

Within me,

Proverbial knuckles

White as I attempt

To hold back

The torrent.

I know you've told me

Where you stand,

Seven hundred forty-eight

Miles away.

And yet you've told me

In so many ways

How much you care for me.

But I know.

I know.

Oh I know

That this will likely end

Exactly how you said it would,

And me feeling the fool

For hoping otherwise.

[sometimesiwritepoetry8]

How silly of me

To believe that this time

I just might

Be enough

[poppiesandpromises]

I have been present

In my body far too long

Time to disappear

I'll evaporate

An apparition fleeing

Into the dark woods

It's unbearable

The way that I've borne witness

I must close my eyes

Drawing the shades tight

Protecting the frail light left

Moth wings in the glow

[sometimesiwritepoetry8]

PRINCE RUPERT'S DROP

Years of being molded

In the white-hot fires

Of anguish

Of disappointment

Of grief

Have left me impervious

To most.

You can take a swing,

Throw a punch,

Hit me with your worst,

And I'll still stand.

Because when the one

Who birthed you

Makes it no secret

How much she loathes you,

What do the opinions

Of the masses matter?

But oh,

How I so easily shatter

Under a gentle touch.

[sometimesiwritepoetry8]

I hold on to this fantasy Like an iridescent bubble of hope So fragile Yet so radiant in its beauty.

I tremble before the images That swirl, kaleidoscopic, Within its depths.

All that I desire lays before me And I weep, For if I stretch out a hand To claim it as my own It will surely vanish, Leaving me once again lost, Alone, And without hope.

[sometimesiwritepoetry8]

I know I should never

put you in that position,

asking what you think

of my body,

my face,

my voice,

knowing how I feel

about yours.

And how I so desperately want to

put you in that position,

my body

wrapped around yours,

my lips

entwined with yours.

But I shouldn't.

I know I shouldn't.

But oh how I wish,

I so wish, we were in

that position.

[sometimesiwritepoetry8]

KINTSUGI

You found me

A pile of shattered

Bits and pieces,

Ones I thought I'd fixed,

Trying to hold myself together

And weeping at my failure.

But you in your shining,

Golden light, soft

And patient, positioned

Each in its place,

Your hands careful,

Gentle,

Leaving your gilded

Mark behind.

A soothing word.

A sincere consideration.

A steady presence.

They built up

What once was broken.

And slowly,

Carefully,

I began to feel

Ways I didn't know I could feel again.

And I wept from joy,

And peace,

And love,

And safety

At this impossible shape

I have taken.

And I almost begin to believe

That I could be whole again.

[sometimesiwritepoetry8]

Her loneliness is a coat of armor,

Protection wrought from necessity,

Plates reinforced with fear and experience.

And while it weighs heavy on her soul,

It is nothing compared to the agony

Of being gently coaxed

Out of it, piece by piece,

By those she loves;

To lay bare and trembling,

Only for them to come close

And plunge a knife between

Her ribs, while she thinks to herself,

"Maybe this time will be different."

[sometimesiwritepoetry8]

This world leaves me immeasurably weary

The masses missing the beauty beneath

Their noses while chasing each new shiny bauble.

Why is it radical to love that which gives us life?

How can you not worship the trees,

Their boughs providing shade, shelter, and breath?

Or the birds who taught us to sing?

How can you not defend the soil, whose bosom

Bears the nourishment we can't live without?

Or the wildflowers who taught us to dance with joy?

They are us and we are them, circuitously

Weaving the tapestry of existence,

Inextricably connected.

So when I bow my head in thanks, for the gifts

Offered freely, I know I worship the truest god

There has ever been.

[sometimesiwritepoetry8]

Tiny Treasures

She's spent her life

Chin tucked to chest,

Avoiding the scowls

Of those hell-bent

On hurting her.

And in trying

To make herself small,

She inadvertently discovered

That some of the most joyous

Things in life

Were there beneath

Her shuffling feet.

[sometimesiwritepoetry8]

Why will I only get to hear

Compliments of my kindness,

My tender heart, and how much I meant

To you once I'm gone?

Why don't people share their love

Of each other? Why do we withhold

Such a precious gift until it's too late?

These words would have been a salve

To my broken soul, and I'm afraid

I won't be around to hear them.

[oldschoolaaisha]

I think of belonging

How I ache for it,

How it abandons me.

[silent-insanities]

The color of my soul is a shade no one seems to like.

[sometimesiwritepoetry8]

I'm terrified

Of each and every one of you.

You wield the power

To break me down to dust

Without a second thought.

No matter how much love and adoration

I pour out, no matter how I try,

It always ends the same--

Me on the cold bathroom tile,

And tears streaming down my face.

[poppiesandpromises]

& I am only

Lovely when the light glimmers

On the broken bits

Without the sun I'm mostly

Weeping wounds & somber smile