Poetry

THE FAÇADE.

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Under the façade of sarcasm and insults
Hides an insecure girl who is trying to hide her most recent wounds.
They are fresh, gaping, bleeding.
She hopes nobody would smell the stench of hurt.
She hopes nobody sees through to the bone deep disappointment.

Under the façade of winged eyeliner and smoky eyes
Cowers an ugly girl who hates the curve of her hips and the thick of her thighs.
She hates it so much.
She hopes nobody ever discovers how deep that hate runs.
Her fuck-all attitude is all she has left.

Under the façade of the resting bitch face
Lives a mean cunt who used to burst into laughter at the dumbest of things.
Her laughter was the weirdest sound.
She hopes nobody hears it again.
She doesn’t want to be funnier than the joke anymore.

Under the façade of the rebel
Survives the most difficult shit they ever came across.
Why does she have to make everything so difficult?
Why is she so stubborn?
Why does she never listen?
She hopes nobody discovers she had listened a little too well once upon a time.
She doesn’t want anybody to hear her agreement when it isn’t given, ever again.

She wants to be heard loud and clear when she smacks that asshole with the big no of her rebellion.
She wants to laugh in the face of the rejection of “Boys will be Boys”.
She wants to embrace her curves when they won’t pose a risk of her wanting it.
She wants to accept her dose of pain when she believes her wounds will be scars one day;
When she believes they can heal.

She doesn’t yet.
And if she doesn’t ever, she will be the sarcastic bitch with the fuck-all attitude who can rebel like nobody’s business.
It’s more fun anyway.

-a-

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Poetry

She is a Woman.

And as she

Walks to her

Future bright,

With shining

Possibilities

And decisions

Right,

She knows she

Is going to

Be okay.

She is a

Strong

One.

She is a

Woman.

Poetry

Home is so much more.

Home is where we begin.

Where we learn to feel welcome.

Without these roots, our love isn’t stable. It crumbles under its own weight.

Here, the soul curls its toes. Here, the heart vibrates.

Home isn’t a place.

It’s so much more.

Poetry

My First Heartbreak.

They often asked me

If I’d known from the beginning

I’d end up with a mess of a heart.

I smile.

I can’t tell them I’d known

When my eyes had first connected

With his amethyst ones

Across the room

That he’ll be my destruction.

He had smiled that crooked smile

And I’d experienced

My first heartbreak.

Poetry

Weight of her Soul’s Words.

Groaning joints

And whimpering cries

Later, she

Realised she needed

To relieve herself

Of the weight of

Her soul’s words.

Fingers swollen with

Golden sparks of

Poetries, she

Put a pen to paper

And let go of

The heavy words

Which lit up the

Skies a

Glimmering

Onyx.

Poetry

Foundation of Love.

When I’d climbed over

The rubble of my aspirations

As the earthquake of betrayal

Had shaken my being,

The house made of lies and old wounds,

And the attention I’d used as

A salve to seal the cracks and hold

Was a poor alternative to the foundation

Of Love houses are built on.

This house was doomed to fall.

It hadn’t been a home.