My emotions are not poetry

They cannot be compared to the deep ocean

Or a thunder storm

They are a fist bruised

From beating against an unbreakable plastic mirror

And the shame I should be indebted to feel

Later

As though a consumption of pain

So strong

I attempt to shatter myself

Is less genuine

Than his comments that belong

In a Shakespeare script

For even though his life is no tragedy

He must deserve your compassion more

Than a foolish child

Wishing

That the glass could split her open

And spill

All the chaos inside

 

My emotions are not poetry

I do not want a quiet boy

To compare my impassioned soul

To a raging forest fire

Or lightning

Splitting the sky

There is no beauty in my pain

That warrants such a comparison

 

My emotions are not poetry

Do not tell me that there is beauty

In this pain

Do not promise that my tears are

More breath-taking

And shall attract more

Than my smile

And then shame me for the water

Spilling down my face

Do not romanticize suffering

So much

That I dream of spilling my

Own blood

And slashing my skin open

So that you will see me

As beautiful

There is no beauty in pain

In sorrow

In death

My blood should not be considered

Romantic

Because I have torn it out of my

Skin

And let it pool on the floor

I should not believe that such

Scars

Will attract more love than any

Display of happiness could

Stop promising a boy who will kiss

With worldly affection

The marks on my wrist –

My thighs,

I do not need to believe

The lie

That I am only beautiful

When I am in pain

 

Our emotions are not poetry

Our pain,

Our suffering,

Our grief,

Are not like the deep ocean

Or a raging storm

There is no beauty

In our scars being kissed

They should not be there in the first place

Because our suffering

Is not the moon

It is not the stars

 

Our emotions are not poetry

And this is realized

When we see there is nothing beautiful

About a lifeless corpse

Hanging from the ceiling

With a rope

That is not pretty or poetic

Wrapped around their neck

And we realize

Instead of attempting to comfort

Their insecurities

By saying that even in pain

They are at least still beautiful

We should have just…

Loved them.