So, as it turns out, Rasla is not the only Blue House denizen to write poetry.  This was accidentally left in the kitchen, and while I know whose it is, I also know what prompted its creation.
When I’m stressed, I write deep angst.  Last week was finals week and everybody’s been suffering.  This belongs to a project it’s
probably best not to publish.

You were not there when I most needed you.
Be here now.
Through endless days I wept, longed for your touch.
Touch me now.
Dark nights I hungered for your warm embrace.
Hold me now.
I dreamed of tender words you might have said.
Say them now.
I would be safe, had you protected me.
Guard me now.
I thought you did not love me anymore.
Love me now.

Some wounds go too deep to be quickly healed.
Grieve with me.
Lost in the past, I search for my way home.
Bear with me.
In spite of all, somewhere are peace and joy.
Hope with me.
Please, never leave me so alone again.
Stay with me.


About coruscantbookshelf

"A writer is an introvert: someone who wants to tell you a story but doesn't want to have to make eye contact while doing it." - Adapted from John Green
This entry was posted in Original Stories. Bookmark the permalink.

3 Responses to Broken

  1. Oh boy… I don’t even dare ask…
    Oooh, fireworks. I hope I’ll be able to sleep.


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