This poem is deticated to Ayeshamuzaffar2 because she wants a happy Valentines Day.
Happy people smile.
Happy people laugh.
Happy people always know
that hurt will never last.
Happy people pray.
Happy people dream.
Happy people know their pain
is never what it seems.
Happy people love.
Happy people cry.
Yet happy people know there love will live
despite the fact they die.
Blood and Water
Not far from here, through the dark and depressed night, there is a light shining brightly over an old broken bridge. There is water under this bridge. Cold, clear, renewing water that flows quickly and carelessly by with no thought of anything other than its progress. It moves to nowhere, from nowhere, with no purpose other than to flow and go on and on through the darkness.
If you look carefully through the rain and deep dank of night, you can see in the bright light of a tattered old lamp post, the shape of a young woman, dressed in a gown of white. Like the water, she is careless and stands on the edge of the bridge, with the wind pulling her arms apart over the dark. Her eyes stream tears from her broken heart, and her voice is raised up toward the stars in a desperate love song.
And as she sings, and swings her body back and forth to the melody, her soaking hair is whipped through the wind, and her pain, like salty rain falls down, down into the darkness below, into a deeper depth of death, her goal. Where she like so many others pray to go, to join in the lovely love songs of all the lonely Have None’s, who long to be apart of a soul. And it is here, at the end of all she can take, that she will look back at her life and let go of her hate. As if somehow, injustice in the past can be looked past, as if it is too late to hold regret for others mistakes.
They say that blood is thicker than water.
I don’t know if that is true. But as her tired eye move past the darkness surrounding her and come to rest at last on the curve of her hips, she cries out, amazed that no one ever knew. That beneath her dress, against her thighs, there are tiny lines, there are cuts, there are lies, there is blood, so much thicker than water. The only thing that’s true.
For years, there was nothing but a sliver of a razor, all taped up on one side. It was the only thing holding sanity inside, and keeping this simple girl with a smile so wide that nothing could phase her, from crying herself to sleep at night.
They say that blood is thicker than water
Because water would be free. Blood held her tight a dutiful daughter. It kept her cold in the arms of an abusive mother and father who would never let her be. Or never see the pain and fodder of each rash decision they would make every time they would forsake their commitment to love and sacrifice and make her pay the wretched price every time they would disagree.
They say that blood is thicker than water
Because waters cheep and hurts the same. Boy after boy fell at her feet, no names, all with the surname—Pain. They provided a quick exchange of bodily fluids, as if love was just a game. As if it could be bought with the price of six drinks and a taxi fare. As if ravaging the body of a stranger showed that somehow deep down she really cared. As if in the throws of lust and passion, either party was ever even really there.
Longing like all young girls long, to just belong, to be swept off her feet, to be complete in a perfect love song, she cries for her defeat. With no reason to say goodbye, but desperate nonetheless she opens up her tiny phone, to sum up her pitiful life in 160 characters or less. The final words she thought, the final words they read were everything she was ever taught and this is what they said.
Where is my Prince Charming?
Where is my fairy tale?
What went wrong in the wretched writing?
Why does no one even care?
So I give you now my final goodbye in
Blood
and
Water.
Deny me if you dare.
Then with a tiny anguished sob that sounded something like a wish, she took her sliver of a blade and cut her tear stained wrists. Then with the blood mixing in the water, she smeared her lovely face and threw herself over the edge, and out into empty space.
They say that blood is thicker than water.
But I think perhaps they’re wrong. Because blood can’t drown her aching lungs or make her heart belong. Only water, clear and clean, can wash away the stain, and through the blood of loves last song, set her free from pain.
So,
Smile happy people,
dream your happy thoughts.
Whisper happy promises,
full of twisted knots.
Sing to me happy love songs,
perfect empty words.
Tell me life is bliss and grand,
that nothing ever hurts.
Lie to me happy people,
make me warm inside.
Fill my head with dreams and hope
that love will never die.
Pray for me happy people,
and make my heartache yearn
for mercy more than happy dreams,
that Love wont make me burn.
