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TEARS.
Where do I begin? On who's thighs shall I weep?
Who is sacrificial enough to listen and wipe my tearful heart?
I guess no one right? I thought as much.
Down this cold path I walk through, the cold night bringing shivers up my spine. My heartbeat at an uncontrollable pace. It is happening again. It starts with the shivers, then flickers like a faulty switch.
The voices in my head are pointing out my flaws and err's. That unforgiving day, when we parted ways. No one knew how much I cried not even myself. I felt unrecognizable by my own self.
Was it that wavering day, when he left me to say. To say that we can't be no more. I knew I loved him, I made him my sunlight and I became his moon who now slowly whisper an ardent farewell.
As the tears rolls down, I keep seeking disquiet answers from her. Yes, from myself. I don't even know what the answers may be but I know those deleterious questions keeps on deriding me.
Why me? What did I ever do to deserve it? When will these pains go away? Will I find myself again? What happened to the old me?
But then the exacerbated thoughts of what people thinks about me constantly floods in also.
"Why is she so chubby?" "Why does she use glasses?" "What is wrong with her legs?" "Are those scars on her body? I guess mummy handled her well." "Is that cleft chin I spot on her?"
Questions that rile up my anger but I can't do anything but cry, cry, cry and cry again.
Because they're true. I'm just a fake, a fake who covers it up with a smile. A fake who doesn't know when to stop. A fake who is picked on but when she tries to voice out her emotions she's spotted as a cannibal having the sudden urge to attack others, I guess she wasn't ever attacked right?
Was it that day that turned into nightmares for her? How can a man lay his filthy hands on her? How dare him touch what was meant for her soulmate? How dare him deprive her of her innocence? No one knows how much she cried that day.
Was it the assault? No. It was the accusing fingers and disgusted looks all pilled up on her feeble shoulder.
Isn't she at fault? What was she wearing? How properly does she position herself when sitting? It serves her right. Yet you expect her not to cry? No one can feel more hurt, more broken, more virulent than that girl, boy, lady, man or woman getting stabbed multiple times by their so claimed family and friends.
Those tears, a shower of words from the heart. I guess 'TEARS' truly are the unspoken words of a broken soul.
Thoughts Of Your_brokenpoet.
© DelightAnumba
Who is sacrificial enough to listen and wipe my tearful heart?
I guess no one right? I thought as much.
Down this cold path I walk through, the cold night bringing shivers up my spine. My heartbeat at an uncontrollable pace. It is happening again. It starts with the shivers, then flickers like a faulty switch.
The voices in my head are pointing out my flaws and err's. That unforgiving day, when we parted ways. No one knew how much I cried not even myself. I felt unrecognizable by my own self.
Was it that wavering day, when he left me to say. To say that we can't be no more. I knew I loved him, I made him my sunlight and I became his moon who now slowly whisper an ardent farewell.
As the tears rolls down, I keep seeking disquiet answers from her. Yes, from myself. I don't even know what the answers may be but I know those deleterious questions keeps on deriding me.
Why me? What did I ever do to deserve it? When will these pains go away? Will I find myself again? What happened to the old me?
But then the exacerbated thoughts of what people thinks about me constantly floods in also.
"Why is she so chubby?" "Why does she use glasses?" "What is wrong with her legs?" "Are those scars on her body? I guess mummy handled her well." "Is that cleft chin I spot on her?"
Questions that rile up my anger but I can't do anything but cry, cry, cry and cry again.
Because they're true. I'm just a fake, a fake who covers it up with a smile. A fake who doesn't know when to stop. A fake who is picked on but when she tries to voice out her emotions she's spotted as a cannibal having the sudden urge to attack others, I guess she wasn't ever attacked right?
Was it that day that turned into nightmares for her? How can a man lay his filthy hands on her? How dare him touch what was meant for her soulmate? How dare him deprive her of her innocence? No one knows how much she cried that day.
Was it the assault? No. It was the accusing fingers and disgusted looks all pilled up on her feeble shoulder.
Isn't she at fault? What was she wearing? How properly does she position herself when sitting? It serves her right. Yet you expect her not to cry? No one can feel more hurt, more broken, more virulent than that girl, boy, lady, man or woman getting stabbed multiple times by their so claimed family and friends.
Those tears, a shower of words from the heart. I guess 'TEARS' truly are the unspoken words of a broken soul.
Thoughts Of Your_brokenpoet.
© DelightAnumba
