Michelle Puehler
Two Free-Verse Poems
Ylandre Smith-Cash
Lost Soul

What Lost Soul is this?
It is I, says the girl,
who used to be beautiful and live,
happy in this world.
What Bloody Arm is this?
It is mine, says the girl,
who can't stand her reflection
and hates this God-forsaken world.
What Broken Heart is this?
It is mine, says the girl,
who's lived 17 years abused and unloved
in this selfish world.
What Salty Tear is this?
It is mine, says the girl,
a mirror to the pain no one sees
in this clueless world.
What Voice is that?
It is I, says the girl,
the abused, unloved, misunderstood, bloody child
whose reflection is an utter disgrace,
whose shattered heart is full of rage and hate,
living in this painfully cold, selfish,
sorry-excuse-for-a-home world.
I am that girl whose pain you foretold . . .
I am the Lost Soul.


Do you wanna know a secret?

I have demons that I can't shake.
The power they have over my sorrows and rage.
They blackened my heart and took over my emotions.
They scarred my body and shattered my soul.
They robbed me of my beauty,
what I had inside.

Now I am this ugly creature,
evil defined.
He will soon claim my body,
this shell in which I hide.
And everyone remembered these words
that tragic night I died.

It’s a wicked thing,
at times quite confusing.
The study of me.