I've had my heart stattered

so often

I'm constantly looking for the

next hammer

at this point

it's just expected

an occupational hazard

i'm cupid's version

of a bright red flag

a girlfriend shaped stop sign

i stand at the edge of a precipice

or a crossroads

i'm a brief pause before the continuation ofyour journey

to your happy ending

a reality check

a reminder to stop and look twice

im the clickbait

a misleading title

the clouds

that must part

and brak before the sun shines through

you see

i am never bright enough

to shine through and be that mesmerising

not to anyone

you look up at the sky and smile

but noone appreciates the rain

unless it eventually stops

and makes way for the clear sky.

//Dreamcatcher2310

It was a getle ignorance

that search for love

companionship

a flower petal obsession

vivid and fragile

a pursit that ends when summer does

when the sun sets

when the wind laces the warm skies

with snowflakes

autumn brings with it

enlightenment

lace draped realitly

still gently and graceful

just as beautiful

but bright as the sky in spring

we see what is really there

and all the imperfections are chased

to the suface

the journey is over

//Dreamcatcher2310

Woollen Cardigan

Im used to honeydew on the tongue

used to sweet, sticky, thick warmth

gentle clouds and soft jumpers

silken sheets and pearly teeth

im also used to heartbreak

to time slipping like juice between my fingertips

just enough left behind to remond me it was there

not enough to taste the flavour

just enough sinking between my teeth to rot

in some forgotton part deep inside of me

im used to the days running out

seconds ticking slowly and loudly away

but i can't grasp enough of them to taste the monment that is passing

and

as i watch them go

gingerly and rapidly at the same time

i remember

youpromised not to go with them

//lauren brown

Let Go (Latin Lamentation)

Latin died years ago

empires were destroyed

and people buried

but we,

we are only human

so we try to reconnect with the dead

we dig

until our fingernails crack

and our knuckles bruise and bleed

just for the chance to reclaim some lost part of our history

just so we don't have to move on

so we can prolong having to feel the loss

we procrastinate feeling pain

when i left you

i didn't want to hurt you

i didn't want to hurt me

but everyday we stay friends piecerces holes in my sides

i slice my feet open on the eggshells we force ourselfves to walk, barefoot, upon

while cutting open my stomach

chewing on shot glasses

there's a reason all of the imagry in my poetry

is so violent

so bloody

because i can't verbalise my pain

can't carve it from my skin any longer

because it's the kind of hurting

that scars the earth

tears Grand Canyons into the dry earth beneath my feet,

behind yours

i am constantly chasing your heels,

afraids of falling in the spaces you'vce left and being swallowed whole by the ground itself

i never loved you

even though i told you so and i am sorry

i never said I didn't care

and i'm sorry

sorry that i ruined the tightrope we balanced our lives upon

sorry that i pyulled down the curtains when the act was not ready to be seen yet

sorry i donned the mask and started the play

sorry i started the pay before checking the props were not real blades that sliced flesh and burned dry stagewood

im sorry the lines meant we had to pretend, even as our insides spilled onto the stage like soft wine and the smell of rancid burning filled our lungs and brought tears to our eyes, that everything was

okay

that WE were okay

we're not, are we?

are we still acting? I can't tell anymore

but my feet are slipping

and i'm finding it hard to breathe

Where Poetry Comes From

I'm worried I've lost my poetry That my life is too normal That I've recovered because my words have always stemmed from my pain, my trauma, from the loss and the ache and the lonliness, from childhood days drenched in red silk and bllue spotlights from sticky sweet perfumed memories from gnashing teeth from bloodies knuckles from bruised thighs from aching ribs and I'm afraid that the coffee and cotton easy mornings of my present have leeched the words from my trembling fingertips a pen left open so long the ink has dried you can see the remanents in there you just can't reach them and it scares me

i feel like I've lost myself.

//Lauren Brown