“Better Written Than Admitted” By Portia Dobrzanski

How hard it is to breathe
when the echoes of my heart beat violently
against my bandaged lungs
and sorrow desiccates my wounded bones

How hard it is to luxuriate
in the crowds that compose celebration
when their numbers only magnify my loneliness
and morality is slandered by the malevolence of their ambitions

How hard it is to think
when the pills that were meant to fix my quandaries
dance their dreadful song with throbbing intensity
and calamity shrouds my memory

How hard it is to speak
in the gracious tongues of my past
when nothing could ever palliate the sting of their hissing tone
by which my throat has since been scorched

Oh,
How easy it is to pretend
when it only takes one smile to terminate their screaming accusations
and laughter paralyzes their blistering lips
cling to the masses and misfortune shall never visit

So go on, darling
Cover up your scars
Numb your pain
Suppress your thoughts and hide your bruises
Play their game
but don’t ever try to win it

Who could love the girl
with tired eyes and a broken soul?
And who could love the girl
whose heart seethes disaster from its cracks
crying out for relief from the shatter?

No one cares to hear your story
No one will stay to dry your tears
The truth may bring pain
But no one could ever love the girl who hurts.



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