I met this girl who holds her pain as if it were glass.
She’s so used to it, convinced it will amass,
convinced that without it life won’t pass.
Carrying so much, with bruises on her shoulders,
she saves happiness for later when she’s older.
Yet she won’t let me fully inside, becoming colder.
For love, she seeks but finds it easier to hide.
Having lived in lack for so long, her heart denied.
Even when love is wrong, she still always takes them back,
Her heart hoping for someone to pick up the slack.
The girl I met lingers within her still.
Her pain a jug for others’ cups to fill.
Empty she becomes, never thought to say “no”.
In a world where nothing stays, everything must go.
Constantly told her pain will someday pass,
One day, frustration hit her glass.
Unused to yelling, she cried instead,
As she does, her glass pain shatters, and tears also shed.
She tries to gather the pieces, the guilt, and the shame.
She tries to pick them up, but they do not claim a name.
That’s when I met this girl, broken on the floor,
And I saw her pick herself up, wanting more.
She said with a grin, ‘Let the healing begin’
I met this girl who holds her pain as if it were glass.
She’s so used to it, convinced it will amass,
convinced that without it life won’t pass.
Carrying so much, with bruises on her shoulders,
she saves happiness for later when she’s older.
Yet she won’t let me fully inside, becoming colder.
For love, she seeks but finds it easier to hide.
Having lived in lack for so long, her heart denied.
Even when love is wrong, she still always takes them back,
Her heart hoping for someone to pick up the slack.
The girl I met lingers within her still.
Her pain a jug for others’ cups to fill.
Empty she becomes, never thought to say “no”.
In a world where nothing stays, everything must go.
Constantly told her pain will someday pass,
One day, frustration hit her glass.
Unused to yelling, she cried instead,
As she does, her glass pain shatters, and tears also shed.
She tries to gather the pieces, the guilt, and the shame.
She tries to pick them up, but they do not claim a name.
That’s when I met this girl, broken on the floor,
And I saw her pick herself up, wanting more.
She said with a grin, ‘Let the healing begin’.
MARIA JULA
MARIA JULA ESTE ELEVĂ ÎN XI A, CLASA PROF. LAURA LAZĂR. ACEST POEM NE-A FOST ÎNCREDINȚAT PRIN AMABILITATEA D-NEI FLORINA DĂNILĂ, PROFESOARĂ DE LIMBA ENGLEZĂ A MARIEI, CĂREIA ÎI MULȚUMIM.
LOGO paper 