Writing Lane

Weatherbeaten

and can’t help feeling they’re forbidden

like shoes unbroken, or rooms not lived in

nice to look at, but too hard to sit in

They say happiness is a seed for watering

But what of the pit that lives in my stomach

The one that grows with only a thought

Branches through each hope and dream

Sinks further at what could have been

Happiness might be a seed that needs watering

And hear my laugh in a crowd

Do you still think it’s me knocking

And see my shadow under your door

Do you still hurt when my face falls

And find me in new music

Do you still wonder who I’m talking to

And see the ghost of me in your room

Do you still know how much I loved you

Rays of sun filled your living room,

But it was your voice that warmed my skin.

My head in your lap, your hand on my back

I’ve never felt safer- warmer, more loved

of being left behind

forgotten at the store

overlooked, or simply a bore

it rips open when you stop holding me

but you can see it without knowing me

it’s buried in confidence, in

I didn’t want this anyway

funny thing is, the ones I should let leave

watch as I rip it open, so they can see fear bleed out of me

it stems from my hips to my thighs

held together with clenched teeth

arms wrapped around my sides

but it festers when you look in my eyes

it formed long ago, when it made no difference

how hard that little girl cried

it scarred over time, but tears in the same spot

one day it will ruin me, not the cut but