Pms-induced thoughts on the journey back from school

Today I sat on a bench at the subway station
And stared at the tracks and the trains passing by
And thought—for a full minute or more—about throwing myself in front of the next train that came along.
I wasn't going to do it, of course.
I could never do it.
But the thought entered my mind and stayed a while.

Today I stood in the train,
Surrounded by all these people engrossed in their own lives,
And wondered what they'd think if I were to lie down on the floor;
Lie down flat on the floor and stare at the roof of the train and not say a word.
Would they care? Would I?

Today I sat down in a vacant seat on the train
And plugged my headphones in
But didn't put any music on
Just sat there with silence in my ears and conversation flowing all around
And slowly slowly my head dropped and
I
Fell
Asleep.

Infinity by One Direction

There are no words to explain the feelings this song causes in my heart.

Poeming (the cliches are true)

I appear to be going through a poem-ing phase (yes, I use "poem" as a verb). I don't know how good any of it is, but I do know that I am enjoying it. Mostly because I've never poemed before, so this is both new and exciting. Also educational, as I try to apply my knowledge of poetry from years of literature classes. All in all, interesting.

But, getting serious for a second or two, the reason this creative spring of poetry has bubbled up is because... well, the cliches are true. Love and heartbreak are catalysts for producing art. And I'm currently caught with a foot in each of 'em. Though the heartbreak appears to be shining through stronger than the love. 

What happened to us?

I tell myself to be
Strong, to reach down into
The depths of my soul and pull up,
Pull up what dignity and strength and
Courage I might find there—
There must be some left.

But for the past few days,
Hours, minutes, seconds,
I have been remembering all that
We were, and we were—
Perfect.

What happened to us, J?
Where did I go wrong, say or do
Whatever it is that I said or did
That changed you?
Was none of it real? Surely
Six weeks—forty-two days—forty-two times twenty-four hours—
And as many minutes and seconds—
Surely they couldn’t all have been forced.
They must have been real.
They felt real—especially midway to
The end.

So what happened to us?
Please, tell me. I cannot go on
Hurting much longer.
Then again, I’ve endured worse.

Did my leaving change your mind?
But we both knew I had to leave,
So that can’t be it. Enough.
Just tell me the truth:
What did I do? And, far more importantly,
Can we go back
To that perfection?

Heartbreak Ice Cream

Eating ice cream in the middle of the afternoon,
Watching a TV show when I should be working:
Is this the life of the brokenhearted?

Why do we eat ice cream, though? Why is it the choice food of comfort?
Is it because ice cream is both cold—numbingly so—and soothing?
It takes away all feeling while giving you the comfort of familiar and exotic flavours;
Fills you up with nothing, essentially—
Or at least nothing healthy—
But fills you nonetheless.
It leaves you content for the interim, before the heartbreak strikes again
And leaves you craving that ice cold comfort,
That numbing fulfillment—
Is this why we mindlessly eat pints of ice cream when we are sad?

For me, it is because ice cream is my one true love.

Fortify

I thought I was tough—
And I was—until he
Walked into my life and robbed me of my
Armour. He did it
Slowly,
Gently;
Took it all away,
Piece by unpierceable piece—
Till there was nothing left, and I was
Defenseless.

And now I sit here, writing sad poetry
Because I have to rebuild my walls,
Reforge my armour, and all the while
There is a part of me that likes this.
Likes this life of openness and feelings and—

And so I remind myself, remind myself of how much I
Hate vulnerability, how much I
Hate being seen as soft,

I remind myself of how much it
Hurts.
And I tell myself that I will
Never let myself fall to this level again,
I will never let myself be robbed again,
I will reforge my armour and weld it to myself
And this will never happen
Never
Ever
Again.

Before/After

What does it mean that my heart beats a little quicker every time I hear my phone go off?
Or does it skip a beat?
It used to Before, too, only I didn’t notice it as much then. And then After—
After it just stopped every time I saw your name on the screen.
There were only two weeks of After, and four of Before, and I can remember snippets of Before,
But every letter of After.
And the remembrances are sweet, sweet joy that I failed to see then but do now—
Now that I'm no longer there and can look back with fond eyes.
You sent shivers up my spine and goosebumps down my neck and gave me chills all over.
I was a bundle of nerves—
Of course, that was After. Before, you just put a smile on my face that was
More real than anything I’d felt before and couldn’t be wiped off.
I asked you once—it was After, a moment of raw emotion—what it was that you had done to me.
You smiled and called me by name,
Called me by name and asked me what, indeed, you had done.
I blushed—as I did around you, unceasingly almost, After—and said nothing.

I read this and it has no form or rhyme—can it even be called verse? But it is powerful feeling,
Spontaneous and overflowing,
And is that not what the one of the Greats said good poetry to be?
And it is recollected now, in tranquillity, long past the breathless rush of emotion
That flooded and held complete and absolute sway over the After.
You changed me and there is no going back, and now with every breath, with every heartbeat,
I wait.