This isn't exactly a poem, and it doesn't flow very well, but it's just something I had to write down. I haven't exactly been very confident, lately.
.....
One night I wrote my soul down
on a sheet already inked with tears.
.
I tore my heart from my chest
and rubbed it furiously onto paper
so I could see the colored smear it left
which could only be described
as something precious,
as something cursed,
as something that was me.
.
I could not put into words
the feelings of great pride and shame
that erupted within me
at the sight of it.
So much greatness,
and so much nothing,
on that little crumbled sheet.
That sheet I wrote my soul on.
.
I found you, one day,
like a drop of golden honey
in a town as bland as dirt.
You smiled like a prince,
and laughed like a God,
and I thought that,
just maybe,
you’d understand what I never could:
Myself.
.
I was scared,
but I was brave,
and so I did the unthinkable.
I ripped a small shred of the paper,
of which I had spent so long perfecting,
painted it over with a fresh layer of my blood,
and, hands shaking,
I gave it to you.
.
I couldn’t bare to watch as you read it,
so I turned away and cowered,
hiding my face from the shame.
Never before had I laid myself in front of someone,
so vulnerable, so naked, so easy to destroy,
and given them all the power.
.
But I was excited, really,
to think that you would finally know,
to hope that you would finally understand,
to believe that you would be the only one
to see my true worth
and to hold it forever
in the palm of your hand.
.
You read my words in utter slowness,
and when you finally looked up at me,
my heart lifted with hope.
But then you shook your head
and it crashed to the ground,
shattered at your feet,
and I felt nothing for the longest time,
unable to experience
even an ounce of pain
with the shards of my former self.
.
You said you wanted to help,
so you pointed out what was wrong,
and what was dull,
and what was stupid,
and everything that I had so cherished before.
You showed me all my errors,
and though you claimed
you were only being honest,
I could see the shadow of a grin
behind your eyes
as you explained to me
the mistakes I had made
that you were far too smart
to foolishly consider beautiful.
.
I waited, chest thumping,
for some form of a compliment,
some sugared words to tell me
that it wasn’t all bad.
I waited for you to say
that I was not worthless
and that you could,
if only slightly,
see some beauty
in the inch of my soul
I laid bare to you.
.
But you said nothing of the sort,
so I just smiled and thanked you,
for helping me improve,
and lied that I knew
it was horrible all along.
.
I went home that night, though,
and brought the shred of paper with me
so I could sew it back on,
with delicate fingers,
to the rest of my precious sheet.
I made it whole again,
so it would be much more poetic,
when I tore it apart.
.
I ripped and I cried,
I screamed and I destroyed
what I was, what I loved,
what was my only hope.
I reduced it to shreds,
and crumbled it to pieces,
then held it above a fire
waiting in anticipation
for you to come by.
.
You were supposed to see me,
tears dripping down my fragile face,
and know right away
the mistake you had made.
You were supposed to walk right up
to my shaking form, so close to self-destruction,
and see the nothing that consumed me.
Then pull me into your warm arms
in order to chase it all away.
.
You were supposed to say you didn’t mean it
the way I had thought you meant it
and that it was so incredibly beautiful,
you didn’t think it needed to be said.
You had assumed I already knew,
and now that you could see I didn’t,
you were ashamed to have almost led me
to destroy such a precious piece of this world.
Something so incredibly beautiful.
.
Then you were supposed
to take the sheet from my hand,
uncrumple it in your own,
and so carefully, so steadily,
sew it back together again
until it was just as beautiful
as it had always been
and would ever be.
.
That was what you were supposed do
if you had known,
or even cared.
.
But you did not come to save me.
So I threw my soul into the fire,
and as I watched it melt to ashes,
all that was left,
was the knowledge that I was worthless,
and your harsh, helpful words
tattooed onto my shattered heart.
.
I was the one who burned it
it was my own hand
that brought upon its death.
So maybe this is my fault, after all,
and maybe you're as innocent as you say,
but just remember those words you said
and the secret chance I gave you
to stop me.
.
The chance you never took.
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140,830 Literary Works • 673,694 Reviews
Oh, MysteryMe! I remember claiming once you are my favourite writer on this site, and my dear friend, you truly are! Where are you, and why have you not been active for a while? I wait long and solemnly for a new piece of work, or a new chapter of Winter Asylum, or a new review from you on my poetry or short story.
Aah, well, my heart right now is in a furious whirlwind of mixed emotion, all thanks to the poem I have just read! And, what am I to say? I am speechless, really. Is there actually a way to put in words of how amazed I am?
The betrayal that pierces one's heart upon reading, the self-hatred and self-pity that usually follows the realization of being deceived...
Let me just describe how I feel. The poem, it did these to my heart: the poem grabbed it, burned it, squeezed it, twisted it, shredded it to pieces, ripped it apart-- very much like the shred of paper belonging to the unnamed narrator.
My fellow writer, you are a master at what you do! Having not been on this site for a few months, I missed marvelling in the beauty of your works. How gracefully you have sorted everything out, how delicately you describe-- I cringe and bow to your skills, and often when I read your works, I hate myself for being so inexperienced.
Send this work to a poetry competition, or a newspaper, or something. Get it published. You deserve to be acknowledged by your country of your marvellous skills.
Reading this work made me extremely upset, but it also left me in awe. I'm in a bit of an emotional state at the moment and I can so relate to your character, so do not blame yourself for my disappointment. Instead, realize of the great impact of your work! It is beautiful.
I hope to hear from you soon.
~Brunnera
Hello,
This is a beautiful piece! I love the emotion in it, and overall story. You say at the beginning that this doesn't have a flow to it, but I think the words sound wonderful. It is very emotional and deep, but you don’t force this in any way. The metaphors in this are beautiful! They really pull the story together. As for critiques and advice, I really don’t have any except to just edit it a little and touch up some parts. You said that it really wasn't a poem in the title, so I won’t go in depth about that. Keep up the great work! This is truly amazing!
This is amazing. I was literally paralyzed after reading this, just open-mouthed and staring, trying to remember what I had read forever and ever so I would never forget this amazing poem. So what if it doesn't rhyme? This is one of the most beautiful poems I have ever read and will probably ever read! Wow. I can't put into words just how much I loved this. After writing this review, I'm going to go back to the top and read it all over again, just to feel that emotion that came into me after reading this. Wonderful. Job. I loved this. So emotional. So wonderfully crafted ending. I loved it.
Wow. That was so beautiful... and terrible, but beautiful! I was going to offer constructive criticism, but no. I just can't. My legs are shaking right now.
First off, the emotion shown was just so raw and powerful. It seemed real. How often does one give of them self to another, expecting that they'll see WHO they are, WHAT they mean, EVERYTHING they have to offer -and have their dream, their hope be crumpled up and thrown to the dust?
Well, lost my train off thought here... hmm... well... umm... ? Lovely! (Sorry, for that...) Keep writing!
Oh wow. I loved this so much. I loved it more than you will ever understand. It is so, so beautiful. It is so emotional..... Fantastic job. Worthy of many reviews and reads and it was..... beautiful. (Unlike this review) I don't know how to tell you how much I loved it. <3
Don't say that this has no flow, it completely does. So what it isn't under a strict scheme? I think that with poetry its about that quick relief. I think that this is emotional reflective piece that you shouldn't cower away from. I love the beginning, its so powerful, as is the ending. The last stanza, so concluding and doubting at the same time.
This poem is great. It is stuffed tight with metaphors, but it still stays consistently realistic. You describe your heartbreak in such an open manner, and I am very impressed. Thank you!
I really felt the raw emotion that steamed off the poem. I suggest just cleaning up with some technique but keep the emotion. It is a beautiful piece that really touched me and made me think about my own heart breaks. That is something you should work to not lose. Keep the amount you can connect to the audience. You evoke emotion.
This actually almost made me cry. It is very well written, it tells a very good story. I loved it!
Well, this is quite the poem you have written here. Even if it's not exactly a poem. Nonetheless I get you, and why you wrote this. Unfortunately, it's too much for me to take in at once. So I'm going to dissect this by stanza, in an attempt to analyze what it means.
THE FIRST TWO LINES: Pretty deep, yet easy to explain. You poured all your thoughts out after a long crying bit.
FIRST STANZA: You rapidly wrote your thoughts down on a piece of paper, so fast that it doesn't even look like you wrote it.
SECOND STANZA: You look at the paper you wrote, and you're both relieved and terrified at what you wrote. You even doubt that what you say is true.
THIRD STANZA: You met someone you liked so very much. Someone who you were sure would like you back.
FOURTH STANZA: You gave him the letter you wrote to him. The letter is the one you poured your heart into.
FIFTH STANZA: You couldn't bare to watch this guy as he read it. It was nerve-wracking, wasn't it?
SIXTH STANZA: You are also excited at the fact that this person could agree, that he could help you out.
SEVENTH STANZA: He obviously disagrees with what you said in the note, and drops it to the ground.
EIGHTH STANZA: He completely decimates and destroys what you poured your heart into. He only claims to be giving criticism, but it's very negative.
NINTH STANZA: You still hold out hope that he'll complement you on what you wrote, and possibly boost your self esteem.
TENTH STANZA: He does no such thing. And you lie to him, thanking him for what he'd done.
ELEVENTH STANZA: Well, contrary to what I believed at first, you did not give this guy the whole letter. You take back what you gave him and reattached it to the original work.
TWELFTH STANZA: You then proceed to destroy what you wrote, declaring it to be garbage. But you still, deep down inside, hope that he'll come to you.
THIRTEENTH STANZA: You dream that he'll see the error of his ways and make you all his, if you catch me drift.
FOURTEENTH STANZA: You continue to dream that he'd come around and make you feel safe, secure, and worth something.
FIFTEENTH STANZA: You wish for him to repair what you wrote, to make it worth something again.
SIXTEENTH STANZA: You realize he really doesn't care for you.
SEVENTEENTH STANZA: Realizing he would not come to comfort you, you destroy the written version of your soul. You feel very worthless, and his harsh words would remain with you forever.
EIGHTEENTH STANZA AND FINAL LINE: You begin to think differently about the whole situation. Maybe it was you who ruined your soul, and maybe the guy had no part in it. But you still admit that he could have saved you. He, of course, never tried to.
I don't know if my personal story is anything similar to yours, but I may relate to you. I once poured my heart out in a letter to a girl that I loved. Upon reading it, she rejected me, although politely. Later that day, I cried so hard, feeling more alone and worthless than ever before.
Please keep writing. This was great. Hope you feel better!