Loneliness Feels The Same In A Childhood Bed As It Does On A Faraway Island

Every part of you will always be easy pickings for someone else’s forked tongue, so you tell yourself that there is no point in cutting down the loudness of your laugh to make yourself less of a target. It works, sometimes.

Once, there was a girl, and she was brave. She talked to strangers and danced when she wanted and when you move your awkward quiet lump of flesh today you wonder where she has gone. Fairytales were poor teachers; not because they kept you dreaming of dragons and princes, but because they promised you that the good would stay good, and they would see their reward.

The last boy you kissed has not spoken to you in days. The last boy you loved will slip a ring on another girl’s finger. Last month you found out that a friend is no longer that. When you go for days without speaking it is like hearing a stranger in your mouth when you finally do. Once, these things would not have mattered: you resided the space of solitude comfortably, but these days you can no longer deny that it is a cramped fit. Hard edges have crept in without your noticing and you bruise when you toss in your sleep. You crawl out only to be battered more by the buzz of scandal.

Some nights you lie awake turning over this puzzle of people. You never know if you are brave for continuing despite knowing all this, or if it will all only lead to a foolish end. Fairytales were poor teachers; we read them thinking we were the enchanted prince, or the princess in drudgery and it would only take magic to break our curses. We were always the baker in the street, or the unnamed palace guard. No song, no monster to face, just the little evils that wear us down to the bone.


Prompt: Write a poem explaining something you’ve learnt the hard way.

Trying to go for something more non-linear than my usual writing, I’m unsure whether it still flows logically. 

Also I was trying to make this a poem with line breaks and all first but it just wasn’t working. >< I’m not sure if this poetry block is really a block or I just am starting to realise how bad I am at poetry to begin with. 

Loneliness Feels The Same In A Childhood Bed As It Does On A Faraway Island

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