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Meghan Delaune

If you don't learn to write your own story, someone else will write it for you

7 poems·Since March 2017

teen obsessed with literature.

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CHANCES

March 14, 2017

My heart burns

It burns with the taste of medal

Every time I see you, every time you turned into the devil

Every time the tears streamed down my skin and our words wrestled

When you turned so violent and my respect for you sunk so deep it became irretrievable

How you could treat a toddler, a child, inconceivable

Now I’m halfway out the door, all the things that you swore

When I was four on that video I found on the floor

The love I must’ve felt from you galore

All the years I felt like I would never be enough

All the times you decided not to show up

Now are all folded up and stuffed, shoved under a part of my heart

That I’ll never be able to tell apart

I know you’ve tried your best and it should be addressed

But what you’ve put me through should be expressed

And it burns, it burns, oh god does it burn

All of the love that I used to yearn.

 
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