Like a note caught passed in class,

I thought our love could never pass,

Playground once full of secrets,

Now baren and empty,

Our love was caught in the middle,

Slowly drained,

Slowly torn,

Until you moved away,

And our hearts moved too.

Back to this spot,

Where I once stood,

Watching you drive away,

I show my child the handprints,

We made in your pavement,

On a hot sunny day,

Mother, she asks,

Catching me in the act,

Of slowly wiping away my tears,

Someone is coming,

I look at her,

Curious,

But she is looking up and the street,

So I turn my head too,

Standing their is man,

A cheeky grin,

Like the one I once knew,

Hair flopping over his face,

I brushed it behind your ear once,

You walked forward,

And at once my heart clenched,

I knew it was you,

Even though you had left,

But torn hearts always have a scar,

And mine was permanent.

paper scraps

in a metal trashcan

bitter song lyrics

and

beginnings of poems

no one will ever read

secrets piled underneath

old math worksheets

and

empty pens

fragments of words

that belong to a

dying heart

I look in the mirror and I am torn as to who I should acknowledge. Do I acknowledge the past me, and if so, which past self do I choose?

What parts of ourselves change and why? And above all, do we accept and move forward after having done unspeakable things?

My puffy face poses no answers to my endless questions.

Am I the girl who dropped out of college and ended up in a mental hospital?

No, let me rephrase: I AM the girl who dropped out of college and ended up in a mental hospital.

When we lose sight of ourselves, do we lose everything we had previously stood for, and then, what do we stand for?

I wonder if we change in linear ways, or if our personalities are like tacs on a bulletin board, with pins connecting each thought, belief, and trait in random, criss-crossed ways.

I am torn between being the girl who is self-aware and the girl who is comfortable being who she is.

I thought recently about a date I had a couple years ago, where the guy told me: you're not vacant like the other girls.

And then he proceeded to try to take advantage of me.

What, in these moments, do we choose to believe? Am I not vacant? Or was that a line?

I am torn as whether to look in the mirror and file my thoughts away into mental oblivion, or to see instead a good piece of writing that deserves a closer read.

i am torn,

i used to be strong,

but you made me "weak",

i hate it, i hate it, i hate it,

you make me smile,

you make me feel things,

sometimes you even make me cry,

'cause the thought of losing you is like the thought of death itself,

i want to give up, i want to leave you in the past,

prevent the risk of our love drying out,

prevent time from doing its deed,

then it'll hurt less,

when you go with the wind,

i don't know how to go on,

we were strangers once, but i never want to go back to a time where i don't know your touch after a long day,

your laugh echoing in my ears,

the way your lips felt on mine,

i'm scared,

you make me terrified of not knowing,

if i move forward, will i end up alone?

if i leave now will i prevent a catastrophe?

or do we have something real?

i know i worry,

i know you care,

but you could still leave,

-what am i to do?

Wripped in two

that's how I feel.

Between this love

and that.

My family

My love

My friends

My work

My writing

I'm torn.