lyra's poetry

I write stories and poetry, and sometimes post some of it.

I'm also hoping to spread writing motivation!

if you'd like to add anything, my submissions and asks are always open.

you can find my other account at @lyralit.

when you look in the mirror and see a monster cobbled together

after you picked apart my flaws to hide yourself from yours

after I stitched myself back up with lies and hate and blood

my poor aluminum heart shiny and steel-like but easily taken apart crumpled like a fist of grass trampled under the thunderstorm that had passed and though the rain had gone away my poor aluminum heart is here to stay.

can I replace it?

my friends have ones of silver and gilded ones of gold, and oh the tales that they unfold spun from the pureness of their non-aluminum hearts, crafted from kindness and joy, all I need is a start: a spindle of hay I can weave to be gold the shafts of moonlight and stories untold

no?

that’s yours?

but do you see it now?

do you see me now?

where all my friends have gone away it’s just me and my poor aluminum heart who is here to stay.

but I’ll craft a new heart and meld it from the fire made of my pain and my new desires I’ll craft a new heart not made of aluminum would you like to see it? it’s right here dead in its new home blackened and broken and made of stone, ruined by my tears.

by not reaching out, by leaving me stand this heart was ruined by your own hand.

she wakes at dawn when the sky is painted gold, and pink, to dress in drowsiness.

she doesn’t remember when it started, when her cheeks became so pink, when her heart grew unsteady whenever she tried to think, but now instead of colouring them flush, she drains the colours from that blush to keep and hide away lest someone see it and say her thoughts, spill them aloud— no. that couldn’t be allowed.

so now she wakes two hours earlier, when the sky is painted blue, to carve her cheeks and chap her lips and give off less than she might give so no one would see it and then ask how her glow had grown so fast why her heart beat unsteady over something that she wasn’t yet ready to know.

but instead of stifling it, as she wished, the glow grew and she began to know the hurt that followed, the cramps and aches and loving pains that carved out her heart and gleaned her happiness a constant rain.

until when she tried to cover it someone noticed the flush that couldn’t be missed, under her disguise, the hope that grew in her eyes, the stabs of knives in her heart, every  single  time.

I think the clouds turned grey that day the very last week of may, when the roses bloomed to touch the sun and children screamed and laughed of fun, and I screamed too.

I don’t think you think of me, not, at least, in the ways I’d like to believe, a whisper of joy long faded but instead like a red ballon, deflated, but I think of you.

do you remember how it turned so sour, a feeling unearned by you but I couldn’t seem to fix the dreams and screams and your transfixed eyes that turned so blue.

and now it’s been twelve years since may, twelve years of tears all frozen by the time in which those tears have crystallized and since that glimpse of you from the skies I’m  starting to crystallize. 

can you apologize for all the times I’ve cried because the only friend I had moved on  can you apologize because I will

it’s been twelve years and I am sorry for the pain and loss I may have caused you it’s been twelve years and I am sorry because while you’re over it, I cannot bear to live anew

so I’m stuck here and you’re stuck there friends of friends but in Hell can you bear to watch them fade the last remnants of my life into the air as you forget.

don’t forget.

it’s been twelve years since that may so now, without delay here is my apology I’m sorry for the pain I caused and I see it from your eyes it would crush me if you had been the one that died.

sometimes I feel like dying, but that's no good for me, 'cause, I can't feel like dying if it inconveniences the family.

like, what do I say? next Thursday, you're not free? a family lunch from twelve to three? alright, I'll wait, don't you anticipate my death alright, I won't inconvenience the family.

but

it's been six weeks, and I'm trying to do better but I'm not lying when I say sometimes it's hard to keep holding on when all my old friends are moving on, I'm slowly losing it losing that grip but I won't dare lose it yeah, I won't slip away and inconvenience the family.

but six weeks, and I know that secrets are not secrets if everyone knows, but while they act all fine, I'm dying inside—

will someone just set me free?

does next Friday work?

Btw I love what you do on your blogs! Keep it up!

you fire off missiles because you hate yourself //

but do you know — //

is this the end of all the endings? //

my broken bones are mending //

up on the roof with a schoolgirl crushhh //

drinking beer out of plastic cupsss //

say you fancy me not fancy stuff //