A chapter with childlike undertones, both happy/hopeful and sorrowful.
TW: SA, anger, meanies
Ashamed
I wish I didn't remember your words being written behind my eyelids.
I wish I didn't remember being bruised only to return to you.
You taught me that everything I knew was unlike it seemed, that the things loving people had told me were wrong and hollow and going to kill me.
You knew how I could get the thing I needed most and that everything I am was wrong.
It's not okay to think or feel or talk or live that way.
You tried to mold me into someone more like you and called it tough love. You told me that your way was the only way and your way left me aching.
You were like a religion of sorts, all knowing and all powerful, I'll give you exactly what you want you just have to be someone else. Is that alright? You don't stand a chance otherwise, but it's nothing to fear.
So I left it behind, I ripped out the pages and burnt the book. You were wrong. You were not the saint I thought you were.
I walk through my life and hear distant church bells ringing.
I wish I could unwrite those pages and unlearn those lessons. I wish I could forget you and your words.
Aspirant
I wake at ten AM in my bedroom, it's exactly how I wished it would be, books I've written rest on the nightstand, every moment covered in poetry, toys and stuffed animals rest on my bed and shelves.
The kitchen is filled with framed stories and colorful paintings. I drink a cup of coffee that's bigger than it should be.
I put on my mismatched outfit, my rainbow beads, ribbon laced shoes, poorly makeup and walk to work.
I listen as they tell me the stories they haven't told anyone, I am so lucky you trusted me, you are safe here.
I have something to give you because I made it to the end, I promise you will.
They feel safe here, they are accepted as whatever they are, show me your heart and I will cherish it.
I eat avocado toast for dinner, I watch the same videos I've seen over and over again, I hold my plushies, I paint on my clothes and make more bracelets.
When the sunsets I slide into bed under my weighted blanket and I begin writing more stories. I tell stories of bruises that heal, I tell stories of lovely Sundays and blue Tuesdays,
I tell stories about my favorite parts of the world.
Aubade
I am awake writing, watching movies, listening to music and talking with friends.
I write stories about writing stories, I write stories of people who are like me, I write stories about my happy ending that hasn't yet arrived, I write stories about raised red scars and lavender bruises.
I watch movies by people with pink hair and bright black eyeliner, they talk about their mind and the way they live.
That favorite death cab for cutie song adored just a little bit more than yesterday, I closed my eyes and felt the lyrics within my chest.
We stay up talking about silly, thoughtful, lovely, and suffocating things, tell me the story you haven't told anyone, I promise I'll listen.
The soft sounds of indie music leak into the morning and I watch the world arise, the sun slowly fills my window.
Autumn
He brings comfort in every room he is in.
I lay in a blue bed in the corner of a bedroom that is not my own and there he is to hold.
My breath is rapid and I cannot slow my heart rate but I can know that he is with me.
This place is strange and unfamiliar, this place is not home, but he is close enough.
He follows me into the different rooms of the hospital and kindly watches over me during the days when nothing makes sense.
Someone gave me a beautiful yellow rose, why don't you hold it for me? Will you be a dear and protect my textbook?
Thank you for the photographs of pretty paintings and fond memories.
Thank you for the bedtime stories and every time you wiped my tears.
Azure // Dr. Collin
He walks into my office with a fearful affect, but that's how this always begins, I wouldn't expect much else.
His steps are quiet, almost like he is afraid to take them. I try to be warm and welcoming "Don't worry about being loud, it's alright little man."
He looks up at me with fear and flies out of the room.
"Hey, Sammy, it's okay, it's safe here, I promise."
His eyes dart around my office displaying every possible expression, he quietly sits, he holds himself and doesn't look me in the eyes.
"Who are you?"
"I'm someone to help you Sammy, someone to listen to you. Do you know why you're here?"
He stares at the ground. "I'm sorry."
"Sammy you have nothing to be sorry for."
"Really?"
"Really."
YOU ARE READING
Dictionary poetry
PoetryA collection of poems I wrote inspired by words from the dictionary. These poems are free verse, cover a large variety of topics, include story telling and are written from the perspectives of different characters. I include TWs in every chapter. <3
