Mountains and Molehills

My teacher gave me an “f on this poem. She told me I should be moving mountains not molehills and she should be crying out of pure joy and not because it pains her to read this piece of… well, you get the point.

I walked out of the room and ran into the bathroom, I stared at my face and willed myself to cry, but the tears wouldn’t come. My face turned red and my gaze hardened and before I knew it I was standing in front of my English teacher. My mouth opened and words came out, and I’m not proud of what I did.

I stood there for minutes, then stomped my foot and yelled “Dammit, I wrote this poem for me not for you. This was a way for me to scream without opening my mouth, and you,

You

YOU

You glued the cap on my pen, broke the tip of my pencil, you sewed my heart shut, put a lock on my brain, you stabbed my words with a sword and threw them out. You killed my poem. I know what you want you want a rhyming piece of happy shit that tells you nothing about me and that I don’t care about, but it would make you smile because you’re not listening to my screams and my cries, you don’t care what happens, as long as in the grade book it goes down as an “A”. So next time you can have your happy crappy poem and I’ll remember to thank you in my acceptance speech when I get published for kicking me to the ground and breaking my pen.

I had another pen in my backpack. Ha ha ha

"Me" is seeping through my seams

"Sit and write a letter. Pour your heart and soul onto the paper. Then tear the paper from the corner downwards. Rip the words that are your thoughts, the words that were your ideas, rip the words that were yours, then throw them out and forget. "
My shrink told me it would make me feel better.
What he failed to mention was that by pouring me onto paper by putting emotions into words that the small, fragile piece of paper would become me. And when I ripped the paper I'd beripping me.
I ripped myself from the corner downward. "Me" flowed from the seams that my maker pieced me together with, "me" flowed from the cracks that my maker failed to fill.
Then I ripped through my middle and out fell my heart. It rolled into the sewage drain.
I watched it fall and watched me bleed. I watched me fall apart and break and crack. I watched tears flow from my fingertips because my eyes were broken. I watched love pulse through me even though my heart was gone.
I felt myself rebuild, the cracks filled, the seams fit back together, and there I stood.
Why do we let ourselves be fixed when we know we'll break again?
Simple, because we love. I love you even when you dont love me. I love even though I know that someday this love will break me so badly that the pieces wont fit back together.
But someday is not today.
Even though loving may rip my heart out and not give it back, I know that without a heart love simply flows. It takes over the veins, arteries and organs and just flows. It will flow through every crack, seep through your seams, and even without a heart you will love.
So rip my heart out, tear it to pieces, but I'll never stop loving.
No, I'll never stop loving you.