17 years old
Lynfield College, Auckland

My heart.
Widowed from love,
And fractured by doubt,
Found peace in your presence.

But your hands were skilled,
at the art of deceit.
Each touch a mere facade of warmth.

Yet in the cold winter’s breeze,
I had no choice.
The harsh frost showed no mercy,
I surrendered my soul to you.

Freedom abandoned me.

Chained to your actions,
I was the puppet,
That your words strung around.

Your false promises,
Blurring the lines between fiction and reality,
Made each day a living purgatory.

I was no longer the author of my story.
The chapters of my life stained by your wicked ink,
A malicious novel.

Yet I had come to accept each page,
For you told me that the next chapter,
would be a happier one,
And my pain,
a tale of the past.

Another false promise.

Summer had arrived,
and you said you were just leaving footprints,
But it’s craters that you’re creating.

Trying to leave without a trace,
Your scent still lingers,
Within the souls of those you abandoned.

This poem is part of the TEARAWAY Young Poets feature for National Poetry Day.

The Common Room