What do I do?/Beautiful

This poem describes what I've been feeling in the past week or so since I got broken up with so he could find himself. People have been telling me a lot of things. It is much longer than intended.

What do I do?/Beautiful

The puddles were finally starting to freeze,

No more fall. A winter breeze.

The leaves were suspended in the water.

Like their own work of art.

They were red and orange

And the water was perfectly clear.

It was its own spot of beauty.

Its own perfection found.

I watched it for days.

The leaves in that ice...

They never changed.

Then it snowed.

Something magic took away beauty.

The snow brought salt.

The salt tainted the ice.

The leaves turned brown.

Suddenly it was mud and nothing more;

A tiny bit of perfection lost.

Was I the only one that saw the puddle form to ice?

Did I only see the perfectly suspended leaves?

Was it necessary for it to go when I was so fond of it?

People stopped slipping anyways.

Maybe no one saw.

I'm weird and conceited.

I got it from the moment I could speak.

"Can't you be quieter?"

"Why do you hold your pencil that way?"

"Why are you looking in the mirror?"

"Math isn't fun. Don't think like that"

"Can't you just do what we do?"

No and I never could.

That's the most conceited thing I do.

I don't listen to people like you.

I listen to people who say

"I don't think you're weird;

I just think you see things other people don't"

Because those people exist.

As I've grown up and salt has been thrown upon me,

like the beautiful ice,

the selfish thing I do is not melt.

My shell is ice, yes, ice.

Protecting anything warm inside.

Anything warm I have are words.

I act like I do not care

and I act very strong.

But it's not my soul that is cold.

It's easy to thaw a heart that isn't truly ice.

A heart is made of kind things.

A heart can be reached.

A heart has weakness.

And heart keeps your memories.

Happy, sad, angry, disappointed.

When a person can reach another's heart either magic

or destruction occurs.

I've seen it firsthand.

So terrified to feel things.

Even more terrified to say them.

And yet as I stared at the sky that day

and it changed from your eye color to mine I knew.

I knew I loved you.

And I knew why.

I knew from way your lips curled at the corners.

From all the times you called me drunk,

just to hear my voice.

It was never how you embraced me,

it was how your mind touched mine.

I could go months without your kisses but

these days without your words

feel like my heart is breaking.

We were a constant balance that you didn't get.

You spoke slowly and I was much quicker.

One of your thoughts, I had six.

You needed reasons and tried so hard to understand

why I didn't.

I was only ever me.

And it was only ever simple.

You left.

I worry.

I'll never understand

but I liked it better when I knew

You weren't alone

In the end?

Who knows, maybe we're the puddle?

Because no one ever seemed to see.

Except me.

I saw you, I see you.

You just can’t see me.

And the closing argument is:

What do I do?

We tumble and we twist listening for a sound.

The three little words that won't

make us hit the ground.

Those three words can't save

Sometimes they make things worse.

We should tumble and twist to feel

To feel the moments that are real.

We should fight for the feelings that make us forget

the bad.

Fight for the unpredictable.

Fight for the unforgettable.

Fight for every wish on star that never came true.

Fight for what is real.

That doesn't have to be "I love you".

Not every puddles freezes into works of art.

Not all people stay together.

Salt can ruin layers of ice.

The stars in the sky are still shining

Even the dead ones sent their light to us.

There are two sides of every story.

and this is just mine.

Author's Note

As a note. I'm not sure this even flows as one poem. Most of these lines were written on different scrapes of things. This is just how I tried to fit them all together.

Reviews

[lee_jang]

yeah this is cool. I mean there are parts that are quite confusing. but probably that's the reason why you chose to write your thoughts in a poem, because a poem may make sense to the poet but not to the readers, but the reader who will really try to understand your poem can make sense out of it in a way you want it to be understood. I don't know but all in all, since you quite gave me the confusion and the eagerness to understand you, I think you did a good job. :-)

[Glitz Technology]

Aww sweetie, I hear your heart. You asked such incredible questions in here. Like: Was I the only one that saw the puddle form to ice? Did I only see the perfectly suspended leaves? ...
You're words are honest. Don't ever give that up. And even if they were all written on different pieces of paper they still hold a common theme... You. :) Keep it up. :)

[ayele marie dalmeida]

i don't believe everything has to always make sense in a poetry
poetry is such an independent way to write and live
i feel like you as a writer control what you want to write , feel and sometime what you try to say won't make sense to anyone but make perfect sense to you . ( lol , i think i'm confusing myself too, hopefully you get what i'm trying to say)
anyway i hope you get pass the heartbreak . and i love the flow just fine
you're a great writer , embrace it . i wish i could write half as good as you .
love the way you ended the poem , that is one thing i always look for in every piece ,
thanks for sharing . (sorry if this is so long ) bravo :) it was well written .