It's so painful.
There is no way to describe
how much it hurts.
This ache, like a hollow
emptiness, yet at the same time
a fullness that makes me want
to burst.
This cramping, yet burning,
yet stabbing pain.
This crushing weight,
pushing me down,
and down, and down.
How can something
hurt so much?
Can I call it pain if it's been with me
my entire life?
Is it possible to recognize it
inside myself if I never knew
anything else?
These words, meaningless
in comparison to this feeling.
If I spoke in the way of a child,
would you hear me
as I hear me?
A desperate plea crying
silently, yet screaming, wanting
to be heard, yet wanting to
mourn quietly. Mourn for myself
and the child inside
that died a long time ago.
If I described this feeling
like a child would describe
this feeling, would you understand
better than what I've been trying
to tell you? To put these
thoughts, questions, and feelings
in simple, yet vague, yet accurate
short words so commonly
used by children.
There's one way to know, one way
to try to be heard, one way to
try to get at least one person to
understand.
If you ignored the rest of
this senseless, desperate babble.
If I put everything into
these three words,
could you more easily
understand everything
I've been trying to say?
My heart hurts.
Everything more,
but nothing less:
My heart hurts.
(Written: 10/28/20)
YOU ARE READING
Poems & Short Stories
RandomAs the title says, this is a book of some of my amateur poetry and writing. Each chapter will either be a poem or a small, short story. Most of it's really bad so I hope you don't cringe if you read it.
