Hi Guys! So recently I decided to reignite one talent of mine I kind of pushed aside some years back-Poem writing.
I kind of find it hard to call myself a poet as I’m still working on this gift of mine and I aim to perfect it someday.
I wrote a poem few years back and I decided to go back to it, finetune it, and put it out here.
Now please feel free to give your opinion about it in the comment section as that will go a long way in helping my improvement:
She was just fifteen,
a child who craved for warmth,
yet growing in a house where love wore metal shoes.
Her parents loved her; oh, yes they did
but their love was engraved in stern voices,
in punishments that felt like exile,
And in rules that sounded like rejection.
She wanted real softness.
She wanted the words she had never heard—I love you.
But silence was all that she heard,
and silence can be so loud
when you are only but a child.
So she went searching.
Hungry hearts always go searching, right?
And there he was—
nineteen, with enticing words
and the kind of smile that could fool
even the constellation.
He kissed her loneliness
and in that moment,
she thought she had finally found
what her home never gave her.
But his arms were not wings,
but shackles and chains.
His eyes did not adore her,
they rather, rained accusations.
Every step that she took,
his shadow could be seen.
Every friend that she had,
he made sure to erase.
And when anger burned in him,
his hands became storms of rage.
She learned to call the thunder “love.”
Three years…
Three years of swallowing pain,
of patching her heart with excuses.
Three years of watching him
plant kisses on other lips
while telling her that jealousy was weakness,
telling her she was “insecure,”
telling her only he could shower her with love.
So she stayed…
She stayed because the fear of being unloved was heavier than the bruises.
She stayed because she thought
to leave him was to leave love itself.
She stayed because no one taught her
that real love does not choke.
She stayed because no one told her real love does not scream hate!
And now…
now she is way older,
but she is still a child inside,
still trying to untangle
the lies from the truth,
still calling her wounds
by the wrong name.
And we stand by, watching,
hearts breaking for her.
But tell me…
how do we unteach the language of hurt?
How do we tell her that the boy was never in love with her?
How do we tell her her parents’ silence
was not absence?
How do we tell her
her worth is not measured
by the hands that strike her?
How do we tell her
love does not betray,
it does not belittle
and it does not chain?
How do we tell her…
without shattering
what’s left of her fragile belief in love?
How do we tell her…
all of it was a lie?
Thanks For Reading❤️