Writing Resources from Fifteen Minutes of Fiction

Still Her

A broken heart,
an injury not forgiven.
How can they assume that I'll forget?
It hurt.
They can't change that.
They never will.
He'll never be able to gain my trust again.
If he ever had it.

A torn soul,
whispering from the dust
as divinity is challenged and love dies.
I gave him chance after chance
and he spat in my face.
I'm done.
I'm through.
I won't let him hurt me anymore.

Broken wings,
lying limp for all to see
as I lay crushed in the mud and rain,
black tears dripping down my scarred face.
They see the pain but they don't care.
They're used to it.
I'm strong.
I can handle it.
What lies we tell ourselves.

Hidden pain
no one can see
as I hide beneath the covers,
muffling my sobs and blood-shot eyes
with a thick, heavy blanket of masks.
I don't want them to know what his words cost me.
I can't let them see
that under my mask of indifference
there's a scared girl who hates him.
I'm still that girl,
lying on the ground and begging him to go, to stop,
pounding my small fists into rough carpet.
I still remember what he did,
what he continues to do.
Why won't he leave us be?
Why can't I accept that he's not coming back?
That he was never here?

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