~~ A/N~~ Okay, so it's the age-old excuse; I had a bad childhood. Poetry helps me deal with it. Sometimes I look over it and feel sorry for myself and have a good cry, and then my period stops and the real world takes over. So here you go. Period-ness. I don't usually mull over these, in fact I haven't written much in a while, so don't worry about me actually tearing my eyes out or whatever. (Sometimes my poems can get out of hand.) Anyway, you don't have to like them, you don't have to review or anything, they're just for me. I just like 'em well enough, and that's good enough for me. Thanks for reading, though.

P.S. "*" means the Chorus

~~This one's a song (unfinished, I think)

You think you know me -

You don't know nothin'

You can't touch my heart,

It's locked away.

I think dark thoughts that I know are bad

I think sad things that make me cry.

*I have broken wings

All my feathers are scattered

to the wind

My tail is broken and

My wings are shattered

I'm a bird in tatters.*

I am sad 'cuz there's pain in my heart

Though the cuts are gone

The bruises faded, the swelling down,

And yet I'm still in pain.

There's nothin' left

in this world for me

Except

to

learn

to

fly.

*

~~Untitled

Torn

Ripped apart

at the seams.

My hair shredded,

my eyes gouged,

my face cut.

Torn.

No longer lovely,

no longer clean.

No longer glisten

like a bright summer's sheen.

He smiles at me.

Hard, cruel eyes

that have no depth.

A world of maniacal possibilities

shines back at me.

I see the evil

through his eyes.

It touches me,

penetrates my face,

tearing out my heart

up through my throat.

I feel empty.

Heartless.

Hopeless.

Torn.

He cut me

with a knife, but he didn't take it out,

and the wound refuses to heal.

Either that or I won't let it.

I slip into oblivion

and God cares less

every time I do.

I need to surface and breathe.

I'm not torn.

I'm shredded.

~~Untitled

Can you touch my heart?

No, I don't think you can.

It will singe you. It will

burn you. It will burn your hand.

Run far away from me.

You can never hope to know.

Save yourself the heartbreak.

Run as fast as you can go.

It is selfish for you to make such a demand.

It tears me deep inside my soul.

Like moving water by crying on it

All that 's left is an empty hole.

I can't even make new friends

Because one day they'll ask,

And I can see it coming,

And I feel burdened with the task.

I don't understand myself,

Though I am at my very core.

I don't think I want to;

I'd have to gnaw past all the gore.

And once I've told my secret horde,

You never know what to say.

A simple "I'm sorry" of "Gee, that sucks",

And you never know me after today.

You think you do; don't deny it.

I've heard all the best advice.

But your words are empty like a fat balloon.

Your pitiful words could never suffice.

All I have is this pen in my hand

With a couple of others in a drawer

And I write and write and write my tale,

Tear-stained papers strewn across the floor.

Did you know how dark I could be?

I once dwelled in the sewers of Hell.

You think you've got pain, you think you're hurt.

Your woes are as meaningless as a witch's spell.

And yet, after this long a study on human nature,

I have come to know a little more

About the human mind and the human heart

And the lifetimes of sorrow they both can hold.

Enter my purpose.

Don't try to touch my heart.

I don't think you can.

Instead, let me touch your soul.

I have potholders of experience to cover my hands.

~~This one's a song (also unfinished)

I have a sad song to sing.

to anyone who's listening,

to anyone who gives a damn

about another human being.

I've been beaten, I've been bruised,

I've been tortured, I've been used,

I have suffered every kind of cruelty that's known to man.

In a family of eight, I have always been alone,

And the perpetrator's actions to this day are still condoned.

Can anyone relate to me? No, I don't think they can.

*Oh!

I am so broken,

emotions unspoken.

My heart is torn to pieces and they've fallen on the floor.

I am so broken,

emotions unspoken.

I don't know if I can take this heartbreak anymore.*

~~Focus on the Birds - A Tribute to Sept. 11th

(I painted a picture of the Twin Towers and won an award for it. I'm going to put this poem on the back to the painting.)

Normal people went to work,

Just like every day.

But for some, before the day began,

It ended in dismay.

I really don't think I understand

Why those people had to die.

I watched the horror again and again,

And I walked to the sidelines to cry.

But I find myself no longer alone-

Thousands of people are grieving, too;

People who were angered by the deaths -

No - murders, of those they never even knew.

A nation brought to her knees in grief

Has remained there to say a prayer.

We pray for the souls that are now dead and gone;

We pray for a tragedy that just isn't fair.

I also pray for them whose tainted hearts

Ripped down the Towers on the isle,

And killed so many of my people -

To claim "Victory!" is vile.

You've hurt my country, but Judgement comes

Swiftly to those who've done us wrong.

Once we've rid the world of evil,

We'll have peace as the summer's day is long.

~~From Six to Sixteen

Did I ever tell you of a little girl

Who has lost hope, lost love, lost life?

Instead of smiles and bonny curls,

All she's ever known was strife.

It is a sad, strange story to tell

And you might cry once or twice

As I describe to you the pain and Hell

Invoked so much she wanted to die.

She was cute, she was innocent, she was pure

But she was used in a hard, cruel way.

She was tortured and beaten, abused for pleasure

Day after day, after day, after day.

It went far beyond the bruises and slaps,

It didn't end with the physical pain.

The mental abuse made her feel terribly bad,

Forever in her soul the pain is ingrained.

She sometimes wonders, though it's all over,

What her life will be like in years to come.

Will she obsessively go from drunk to sober,

Destined to repeat history in her own home?

I'll tell you that only time can tell

Of the process of her healing.

Though the years of pain has created a shell,

Writing this poem has given her feeling.

~~It's My Fault, Anyway . . .

Bold and daring,

you enter the room behind my back.

I sense,

rather than see,

you as you walk

purposely at

me.

Wide-eyed,

I snap my head around

just in time to see

your hand

as it reaches around my head

to grasp my hairs and

pull upwards,

dragging me

into my room

where I'm blamed for something else

I haven't done.

Quivering in fear,

I'm terrified of your jerks and movements,

afraid that one of them is a slap,

or punch,

or some other savagery.

It doesn't matter,

you beat me savagely

and leave me with my tears,

confident that if Mom saw,

I'd lie.

~~Don't Piss Him Off

You shouldn't be afraid of his eagle-eye glare

which he is able to manage even with glasses.

Don't be scared of his angry looks, his yelling,

even his face in yours,

his stinky breath choking your throat,

spit on your face.

If he stays in your face a while, he might hit you

suddenly

or yank cruelly on your hair

and you might even end up on the ground.

But the worst of it

comes when his brows furrow,

his eyes sharpen as though focused on a target,

his tongue sticks out between his teth, lips open in grimace.

This is when he pummels your head or face

with his fists,

or punches you in the gut.

He normally, when going for your face,

goes for the cheek or jaw,

but sometimes he's off, and with a sickening smack,

you've got a bruise on your neck, too.

But finally,

the monster leaves

you, with ratted hair, cold tears on the

hot spot on your face.

His other victims are no source of comfort;

they've drawn into themselves.

You do the same.

~~My Healer

Touch my soul,

Give it warmth,

Bless it with hope.

Healer . . .

Break the rocks

Guarding my feelings

And set me free.

Tear from my eyes

the tears

of eternal heartbreak,

tears of a tormented soul.

Healer!

Hear me, hear my cry.

Look past my dark, forbidding eyes.

Dismiss my concrete cover.

Discover the wound,

Raw and fleshy,

as though it were inflicted yesterday.

Stop my bleeding, Healer.

Stop my pain.

Healer . . .

I see you in everyone's eyes,

everyone I tell.

But then I tell them and then you're gone.

I need to find

my Healer.

~~Some visual poetry, though I doubt it will work in html form

A touch

that is gentle

can do more damage

than one that is rough.

A well-meant look

can scare me more

than if you

smiled at me.

A smile,

a graceful gesture,

a loving caress

hurts more

than a slap,

or pinch,

or punch

ever could.

A glare or rude remark

could make me smile,

but I crumble

when you hold my hand.

Nothing hurts more

than for you

trying to be close

as I try to move away.

How can I say it? What could bring our two worlds so closely together when

I'm so afraid

they'll crash?

I keep you

at a distance.

You couldn't understand

even if I told you.

I used to dream

as a little girl

Prince Charming

would make it all better.

Now,

I'm not so sure.

When I try to explain

I make it seem so bad

that I feel that I have lied.

But when I try to numb it down

It doesn't seem so bad,

then you can't understand

my pain

and I feel that I have lied.

I smile and laugh

to distance myself

so I won't go insane,

and you want to know

who I am

but all I am is pain.

All I am

is pain.

~~The Torments of a Teenage Soul

(I won an award for this one)

Roses are red and so is this ink.

I'm back in school and they're making me think.

I don't like to work, but I don't wanna play.

I don't like it when I sit around all day.

I like my peace and quiet, but I play my music loud.

I'm down-to-earth, I'm deep, my head is in the clouds.

I like to surf the 'Net and chill,

But I'm afraid that I don't have a Will.

What will happen tomorrow? What will it bring?

I'm a teenager, but I'm scared of dying.

I'm scared to live, I'm scared to die.

Can't tell the truth, nor can I lie.

The things I knew for certain as a child

Are muddled and confused and totally wild.

No longer am I scared of the dark,

But now I'm unsure of my own Mark.

I hate my folks, but depend on them so.

Everyday I shrink in my efforts to grow.

I want to be cute and attract hot guys,

But hate it when they think I'm just for eyes.

I have a soul - doesn't anyone see?

Can't they tell that there's more to me?

Why does my pain seem so hard to bear?

Why doesn't anyone seem to care?

I hate it and yet I love it so.

Everyday I shrink in my efforts to grow.

I hate it and yet I love it so.

Everyday I shrink in my efforts to grow.

~~The One, True Me

Even when you stand next to me,

You're an entire universe away.

Even when you look at me,

It's like looking through the eye of a storm that's grey.

At the same time your hand brushes mine,

A feel a tear brush down my face.

It's programed in my head every touch will do me harm

No matter how much love, how much care, how much grace.

My heart is not carved from stone; I feel.

I hear your pain, your doubts, your wordless emotions.

I see the colors as they're meant to be real

But all would dismiss these thoughts as mere notions.

I must hide this fact and bury it deep inside

And let it out only to people who understand.

I know you feel as though I have lied

But this Gift doesn't come from mortal man.

It is a Divine Gift I will someday use for good.

But I must protect it, keep it from mockery.

I save it for those who have understood

Why I have kept it under lock and key.

I will know the right moment to share my Gifts

And then I'll bless the lives of others.

Hopefully I can answer and uplift

A candle-like soul Satan has tried to smother.

But until then, I grow, I learn.

I try to find acceptance in this world.

I have a Purpose; to it I hold stern

And raise my voice, the Lord's banner unfurled.

I'll do His Work - it's the only Reason I'm here.

I'll serve Him long and tirelessly.

Will God in my heart, there's no room for fear

And He'll help me find the One, True Me.

~~A Broken Heart and a Contrite Spirit

(this is the one about ripping body parts. It's also quite religious, if that makes any sense. Anyway, it's kind of a sensitive one, so if you don't want to read it, don't)

Shattered is my heart

and my soul doth droop,

overweight with sin.

I come to Thee, gracious Lord,

because Life does not matter

without Thee.

I would break my bones,

tear my hair,

starve my body.

I would grind my knees to the ground

in earnest, pleading prayer.

I would crawl through

sharp rocks, over cliffs,

over mountains, over sea.

I would sacrifice my all,

give up everything I love,

rend them from my heart

to make room for Thee.

Desolate Life, without Light.

Eternal Darkness,

overwhelming.

I would crush my hand

that I could not write

or paint or draw.

I would rip my ears

that I could not hear

the sounds of a child.

I would gouge my eyes

so I couldn't see.

I would cut my stomach

so I couldn't eat,

tear my tongue so I

couldn't taste,

rip my lips

so I couldn't smile.

I would destroy this body

so I could get closer to Thee,

that it's carnal desires

wouldn't distract me.

"The World is too Much with Us,"

a man once wrote,

for I am too much with the world.

Help me conquer this body.

Help me conquer this world.

Purge from my heart

anything that doesn't come from Thee.

Tear it from me.

I may bleed,

but my heart doesn't pump

for sin.

~~Words of Ink

I've always thought it would be cool

to write a poem with dark words,

words that scraped the bottom of my soul

and shocked those who were used to the sun.

These words would express how I felt,

poisonous words not to be taken lightly;

heavy words, blotting out light like ink,

to paint a verbal picture of blood.

I'd like to tell the tale of a poisoned heart,

of darkness that covered like spilled ink,

of eyes shining out from dark-rimmed sockets,

staring over hallowed cheeks with bone sticking out.

Gaunt faces.

But I can't paint such a picture

because I don't lose myself in dark, inky swirls.

I do not sink. I float, but not without Purpose.

I am not an inkwell. I am hope.

I could tell tales of horror and heartbreak.

I can be dark. I can be hateful. I can be depressing.

But I'm not.

That's not who I am.

I used to think all I am is pain.

But what I really am is hope.

I am light.