Maybe pain is the way I breathe everyday

The sight of a slight crack in a human draws me to them

So much that I loose myself inside the person; that I get lost myself

I can fix them

I can heal them

I can make this person whole again

Maybe this time they won’t leave

But they always seem to do after I turn their hearts lilac

They leave mine such a stained purple for me to fix

Maybe the bad boys are my type

But not the players, the broken boys

The boys with countless of pounds on their shoulders that they seem to balance everyday

Through all the trauma, I saw lilac

And dove right into them

And fuck maybe I just crave that stained purple heart; the texture of the glass cutting my fingers makes me alive at night

Gives me purpose to be walking on this earth

The broken boys seem to just keep me running for them and boy am I chasing

Maybe pain as a whole is how I function

I was built to fix the broken boys, and for them to use me as their own fundamental punching bag for whatever they needed off their chest

Maybe I’m just everyone’s punching bag, because it’s not just the broken boys who use me like that

Fuck I think I’ve fixed hundreds of hearts and made them the prettiest of lilacs, and they left mine the ugliest of purples

And don’t get me started on when my heart shatters, because it’s just a self reflection of pain

God is their even a god at this point?

Is there a point in praying when nothing gets better?

January 1st I had my first breakdown with a bear, my absolute favorite broken boy. No, I hate saying boy. Broken wonder, and I told him how I felt about god

“How do you still believe in him after all the shit you went through?”

He took a small breath and replied without much hesitation

“God isn’t really… there to give you the right choice. He’s there to guide you into the right choice.”

And fuck, god was sending me in 15 different directions

Maybe I just love this pain more than a kink

And boy, do I get fucking turned on when someone grips my thigh like it’s theirs and chokes me to the point where I’m coughing up all my sins into their lap

Cause when don’t I top

They say pain is simply a side effect of life

But is it a side effect if it’s what you build your foundations on?

When it’s your job to fix it?

When you stay up countless of nights to see if your person is going to text you out of the blue saying they need you?

When they don’t respond for two goddamn hours and you start to wonder, did I do something wrong?

Did I do something wrong? Do I need to turn into the punching bag again my love? Where did I go wrong again? Oh, I’m so sorry that I did that to you. You have every right to tear right into me and pull out my broken fucked up piece of shit ass heart and smash it for the thousandth time because that’s what everybody does.

They blame it on the punching bag; even if they don’t intend on doing it

Even if they tell you so much that they love you and that none of this was your fault; it was all your fault

Dry your tears, they won’t do anything

Broken wonders don’t respond to crying

You piece that stained purple heart back up and tuck it back inside your chest

And just wait for the next person to rip it out onto the ground

Cause that’s what punching bags are for

For you see, I am a punching bag

I am a punching bag that has been broken so many times by the broken wonders of the world that I have no innovation to fix myself

Because I’m more worried about fixing the people who have a chance in this world

And I am just waiting, silently waiting, patiently waiting, so ready for someone to come into my life and tell me my ugly purple heart has a slight glimpse, just a small pocket, of lilac

Maybe I found this person; maybe they’re sitting with the fewest people who I have fixed and are still in this little heart home of mine

Maybe there is a bit of hope

Right person wrong time? Are they even in my life? So many questions that-

I’ll never know, until they tell me that my heart is lilac, and when my reflection stops showing me a punching bag

Because I’m much more than a punching bag to friends, family, boyfriends, girlfriends, the list carries on

Until my self reflection turns into the brightest of lilacs

Because I am lilac

· a letter to me; you’re alive

Leann Moyer is a very energetic and goofy person who loves writing poetry as a way to express herself. She is a senior at Bloomsburg from Drums, PA and is majoring in Psychology with a minor in Communication Studies as she hopes to become a high school guidance counselor. As someone who has had her own struggles growing up, she aspires to help other kids as they figure things out and discover what they want to do with their life. 

Leann has been writing for years, but this is her favorite piece by far. Her writing process consisted of “word vomit” as she spewed words and feelings onto the page that she wanted to let out into the world. It wasn’t until later that she saw potential and decided to develop the piece further. Back in May of 2022, she had gone through a messy breakup that she references in “Self-Reflection” through the bear. It was then that something clicked; she reflected on how other people have been treating her and wanted more for herself. This poem acts as a note to herself saying, “You’re not a punching bag. You are something more than how people are treating you.” 

After the events that have inspired “Self-Reflection,” Leann has grown from her experiences. She has reached a point in her life were she no longer feels the way she did when writing this piece and has found confidence in herself. Before writing this poem, she explains her battle with suicidal thoughts and mental health as she had previously attempted to take her own life. It wasn’t until recently that she learned to let the past stay in the past and that, “yes it happened in my life, but I’m not letting it devour me.” 

This poem shines a ray of hope in times that seem bleak. Leann wants anyone who’s reading to know, “You’re not alone in anything that comes to what you’re going through in life.” There are outlets and people who care that you can talk to. Know that you don’t have to soak up everything like a sponge, and you can set healthy boundaries for yourself. For anyone aspiring to write, don’t let yourself censor yourself and, “put words on paper and just write.”