Why does she cry?
Or rather, why does she cry this time?
Is it for her many broken hearts
Or the miseries she’s survived?
Could it be for the ones she kept inside
Or the many times she’s tried to smile?
Skin gone way past plain vanilla
Now more like some kind of ripple,
Waves of colour across one cheek
And two dangerous scars near her left nipple
Has her cold-sweating on floors
As cold as any night she could remember.
Maybe it was the time in May or the one in mid-November,
Maybe it was the one she dismembered in her mind,
Late one night
After the last fight
Maybe it was the one that made her decide
She’d rather be alone with her fragmented life.
The one she thought would be her final righteous thought
And the last time he believed that he bought
Only he didn’t…
He bought her mind;
Cause days after he was long gone she’d still feel him inside,
And no printed paper, no matter the size
Could pay for the pain she fought with inside.
And I want YOU to feel it.
See the memories rolling down her cheeks as she tells it
To her daughter
Before he caught her
Thrift store stories a mile a minute
And she’s the only one fit to tell it,
And yes, there’s always a yearning,
Even beneath the groaning, discoloured smile she paints on every morning.
Justice will be served as her final warning,
She knew he wouldn’t see it coming.
But you see, she doesn’t know that I craft these stories from her pain
So she won’t ever have to feel them again
Let go of that desire to hold on to the strain
You’re never alone in your darkness and the sun must shine again
Such is the circle of life.
And we know its never completely all right
But you’ve seen worst, you’ll make it through tonight
Never without a fight,
Just don’t take your eyes off that light
At the end of the tunnel
Its more than just a train comin’.
Sometimes I wish I could draw my thoughts on a canvas larger than the sky
So the whole world could see when my heart smiles, or cries
Cause sometimes I’m not brave enough to ask for help.
So instead I give…
Ideas and dreams
With little slivers of hope sewn in at the seams
Two shades off from blood red
I saw one solitary tear touch the bed
And felt that I should write instead.
And here it is,
No. Here I am!
Open heart and outstretched arms
Begging for a change of plan
One drop of hope in an open palm
Break through the turmoil to embrace the calm
I’ll start the change… Here’s my hand!
By: Josiah C. Bayne