Tag Archives: hurt

Sunburn

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We burned brighter than the sun until the day you left—left me here with nothing but the memory of you, stinging like a sunburn. 
You were untouchable; the person I once was had so much to learn.

I craved your affection like my body craves the warmth of the sun,
so why did you have to run? 

I’ve tried to peel your ghost from my scorched skin but you were determined to leave your mark. 
You set me on fire, then left me here to burn in the dark.

So, like an insatiable itch that won’t go away, 
you haven’t left my mind to this day. 

I often ponder about what we could’ve had, 
If only I knew then, it would hurt this bad.

I shouldn’t have ignored all the warning signs, but I did. 
Can you blame me? I was only just a kid.

It took some time, but what I know now, 
is that I’ll never let another break me down.

Now here I am, a freckle-faced girl with a brand new glow,
someone I could’ve never been without the tear stains written in your name on my pillow. 

I used to see the golden sun in your eyes,
but somewhere in between tender tan lines and little white lies,

I’ve forgotten your name. 
You’re fading now, so there’s not much more to say. 

I once thought I was at the point of no return, 
thankfully the pain you caused was only temporary, much like a sunburn. 
~~~
When you’ve never experienced romance nor the heartbreak that can stem from it (thankfully!), as a writer, sometimes you have to rely on other familiar experiences, pure imagination, and some dramatics to create stories. As is the case with this poem, the idea of which was inspired entirely by an actual sunburn I obtained this summer (that I still have tan lines from). Pretty neat, right?

Writer’s Block

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Her mind is blank, but if these walls could talk for her, only then might you fathom the extent of her suffering. In the dead of night, they watch as she wakes gasping for air as if a cinder block has come crashing down onto her chest. While on solid ground she’s falling, losing her grip by the second, slipping farther while her aching fingertips are desperately trying to hold on.

Wandering aimlessly, she hasn’t a clue what she’s searching for. She’s trapped in a mirror maze of pure nothingness, accompanied only by several of her own helpless reflections staring back at her. She scours every corner, but amidst the flashing lights she’s lost all sense of direction.

The walls of this glass box she’s in cave, and through the thickening air she screams, yet nobody can hear her. All that’s on the tip of her tongue is the saltiness of her tears. She’s tormented by the the deafening silence inside her head.

What a beautiful tragedy it is for a writer’s heart to carve its own wounds. She lies awake on nights like these, tossing and turning, listening for distant murmurs. The closer they get, the clearer they sound and she can begin to slowly stitch her heart back together.

She remains restless until her heart is woven by the strings of all the words she’s for so long been trying to find. The mere presence of a single thought reinvigorates her entire being. At last she can breathe again.

~~~

As this final day of August was nearing, I feared I had nothing to say. I was experiencing the most intensely horrifying feeling any writer could have: writer’s block. I always thought there was no feasible way to put in to words the feeling of not knowing what to write about, as someone it should come so easily to. But, I thought, what if there was? And so, as I lay restless in bed one late night, I typed a list of words to describe all that I was feeling: panic, confusion, frustration, and so on. In doing so, suddenly my mind was filled with constellations of letters forming all the right words to give you this melodramatic tale.