What's going on here?

What's going on here?
Well Amanda and Emily both have goals to write more. Amanda wants to write a poem and a half a day for the next year, while Emily wants to write for National Write a Novel Month (NaNoWriMo), which is usually in November, but she is going to do it from now until her mission on May 18th. Here is were you can follow us in our goals! Leave comments, encouragement, and what ever else you feel like.

Friday, December 9, 2011

The Broken Places

I’m sorry I’m still puzzle pieces.
Crumbled cracks etched in skin
Standing in a pile at the bottom of these basement stairs.
I’m sorry I can’t piece myself back together.
Stitching  up those cracks with all the kind words and warm hugs and nostalgia
That you and all of our friends provide me with.
I’m sorry I’m incapable of fixing it.
I’ve tried to be normal.
Constantly repairing the precarious popsicle stick pieced together portrayal of perfect
Of normal
Of happy.
But I can’t remember the last time I was normal
And I sure the hell was never perfect.
Happy, I’ve been happy.
I’ve been out of my mind
Over the moon
Beyond the riverbend
But I’ve never been content.
And that’s what this world wants from me.
They want that smile of peace
But all I’ve got is pieces.
And I know that’s what you want from me.
You want some kind of normality.
A base line you can judge it all from.
But I don’t have a base line.
And the base line the world set for me is smeared and scratched out.
So when you ask me what’s wrong
And I can’t say because even the cells on the edge of my fingertips are screaming to keep it quiet
Please don’t get offended.
I’ve had too many glass bottles thrown my way.
I’ve got knife wounds through this broken back of mine.
I’ve heard too many times from lips that sometimes spat love
That I was worthless.
I’ve been told too many times to just get out
Because I was wrong.
Who I am was wrong.
Words that I said
And things that I felt
And thoughts that I had
Were all wrong.
So I’ve got this shell.
This cover that I constantly walk around in.
Not because I don’t trust you
Not because I don’t love you
But because I’ve heard it too many times.
Heard the “You’re just not right” too many times.
And sometimes the cover wears thin.
And the coping methods don’t work
And people catch that glimpse of me
And they run.
They always run.
So when the cover gets weak
I just pull myself in.
Close off this mouth, these eyes, these ears.
And I am on my own again.
So I’m sorry I can’t fix myself.
Can’t piece back together the porcelain that was shattered years ago
But I promise when I find my way out of this pit.
When I find a way to stitch back together this cover I made
I will be back on the pedestal you built for me.
The pedestal that somehow says I’m okay.
It’s alright if you want to think that way.
Because I’m never going to share the broken places with you.
But know that I am broken.
That I am unfixable and shattered.
Because when I fix this cover again
You won’t hear me say it.
But I wish I could be whole for you. 

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