poem – Page 8 – The Messy Middle 🖤

Flare Gun.

We’re the only survivors,

in the wreckage of you and I.

Red flare shot into the sky.

Lit up all the pain,

surprised I didn’t die.

SOS,

we made a fucking mess.

We’re the only survivors,

in the wreckage of you and I.

–S.

It feels like.

Sometimes it feels like all the goodness in the world couldn’t eradicate the darkness inside of me.

Sometimes it feels like all the lenses in the world couldn’t help me see.

Sometimes it feels like all the meditation in the world wouldn’t let me be.

Sometimes it feels like there is no free.

–S.

I don’t think this is what we meant when we said forever.

I’ll be sorry the rest of my life.

In my heart, this will keep you alive.

You’ll never have to fade or go away.

With me, you’ll always stay.

I’ll be sorry the rest of my life.

–S.

Heartbreak Marmalade.

Mistakes made,

hurt exchanged.

Emotions fade,

outlooks jade.

We’re not good for each other,

but we’re great at making heartbreak marmalade.

–S.

Give ‘Em Hell.

Longing,

rhymes with belonging,

and prolonging,

too.

All words that I’d connect with you.

I was fawning and then it was dawning,

that I was bombing.

and wronging,

everything all to hell.

–S.

What are your plans for today?

I’m headed to the movies,

seat G4 or maybe two,

I’m staring at the back of their heads,

isn’t that what all normal people do?

It’s like I’m in a back pew,

watching love in open-view,

but I’m just the girl in G2.

–S.

Matcha Latte.

He orders matcha because she does.

His smile still gives me a slight buzz.

His laughter gives my eyesight a little fuzz.

But he still orders matcha because she does.

–S.

Self-Compassion.

The counselor tells me I should show myself grace.

The idea makes my heart race.

Could it really help erase,

thirty-three years of self-hate?

–S.

True Love.

Is it true, love?

There’s someone new, love.

I’ve been thinking about you, love.

I was still thinking it was you, love.

I still want to talk to only you, love.

Is she picking something blue, love?

Does she perform on cue, love?

Does everything still feel new, love?

You never left my view, love.

I’m sitting in the pew, love.

Praying you weren’t through, love.

There’s nothing left to do, love.

I guess it’s true, love.

It’s true love.

–S.

Depression.

I smile on cue.

Respond with empathy for what’s going on with you.

I laugh when the others do.

I just can’t help but think,

that I’m going through the motions,

more often than a normal person would.

I try to do what someone normal should.

I’d be normal if I could.

–S.