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Best Poems Written by Kayla Manahan

Below are the all-time best Kayla Manahan poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Kayla Manahan Poem

Whispers In the Dark

I know you may not see it 
but even if you never do,
I still want to tell you
that if everyone else
has abandoned you
I never will.

Friend, you are the words I whisper
in the dark,
your name stretched across my heart,
tearing my soul apart.
I would take a bullet for you,
take away all the pain from you,
watch my scars open and bleed,
my hands spread like the heavens
to catch you
if it would save you,
heal you.

You
are so very close to my everything.
The world itself would seem void
and bare
if you were not there.
Surely, there is no life beyond you
and no happiness that should appear
if you were not near. 

My mind traces it's circles around you.
My hands grasp 
for something not there.
I'm restless. I need to see you.
Need to hear your voice, 
view your face
because my mind can't erase you.

You're my weakness,
my Achilles heel
because you felt so real
like a dream that had not yet faded.
I'm afraid to say that
I think you're gone
and I wonder if I've ruined everything
in my life by hurting you.

My head is reeling
as I find my way through the pain,
black as night,
a dark silhouette veiling the light
drenched in rain.

Friend, I would die for you
and even though I would never
want you to do the same
I wish you would want to
because I wish 
I were loved the same way.

Details | Kayla Manahan Poem

My Legacy Is a Tale of You

The flaw in history 
is that events are most often
written by the victor
but what if a person has had no victory,
made no accomplishment,
seen nothing that they deem worthy
of others' admiration. 
They have seemingly toiled in vain
and lost battle after battle
been through pain after pain.

I have seen many a man chase glory,
look to the stars for fame,
and fall flat on his face
simply looking for acceptance. 
Listen, worth is not found 
in the amount of gold you have
or the amount of battles that you've won.
It isn't in how many people see you
but with all of this said
I would dedicate my life
to write your story 
and see it etched in stone. 

Forget about my legacy,
forget them telling tales about me,
forget the glory and the fame
just to see your name
pulled to the top of the roster
held like a delicate thought, sir
because in my mind you are better,
more lovely by far
than any thought
or any star
that I have seen on the Earth
except for God himself
and this I hope to be true 
that I would uphold you
and put myself on the back-burner 
just for a chance to lift you higher
because that's what friendship is.
That's what love is
and I love you.

Details | Kayla Manahan Poem

Dead Man's Float

I should have seen
that everything was just words
before I was swimming
in an ocean of hurt.

The deepest depths of the sea
lurched towards me
and I inhaled water.
I welcomed it, lulled like a sailor
drawing ever closer to his end,
making his way to the siren
until with one final breath
he exhales his last
and she pulls him down with her.
 
Yes, I welcomed 
the beauty of the ocean
knowing I would die
and there lies my body.
Can you see it? 
That was me.
It drifts beneath the surface until
it will make it's way to the top
bobbing again 
amongst the waves 
but I'm still lifeless.

I feel nothing.
I see nothing.
There's no light 
behind these eyes
because I drowned in water,
the thing that 
should be healthy for you.

I guess that's what friendship is.
I guess that's what love is.
It makes you hate yourself.
Makes you wish 
you'd never trusted anyone.

Nobody cared
because if they did
they would have told you
that they were going.
Not once but twice.

Gone are the days 
of naively believing 
that anyone actually 
cherishes you.
Gone are the days.

You see yourself 
for what you really are,
an object to be used
and then thrown away. 

Had I known 
I never would have trusted,
I never would have looked.
I would have left the sea
to walk on land
because the land 
may be dry and barren
but at least the land is there.

The sea's waves come 
and go as they please
and never cease 
to leave
a corpse floating
like wood,
the wood that I cut 
for my bed that I made
that wasn't stable.

Now I'm able to see
that I never mattered.
Now, I'm able to see.
Now I'm able to see that the sea,
the sea never loved me.
The sea was a lie.
The sea was a lie
and no matter how hard you try
you can't escape 
the inevitable outcome
of it hitting your lungs
as you scream silently
and realize you're drowning.
That was almost two weeks ago. 
I'm decomposing and bloated
amongst the waves.

They say that God saves
and maybe 
He'll breath me back to life
but until then I float.
I float.
I drift and I float.

Details | Kayla Manahan Poem

Wearing Love

Tie your soul
around my wrist
like a rope of gold.
Put your words
around my neck
like a heart shaped locket
engraved with your name
etched like a thousand voices
speaking one and the same.
Let me wear your love
like a sweater to keep me warm.

Let it be so close to me
that I can feel it pressing.
Feel it pulsing.
Let my mind sense it like
it is woven around me.

Love is what I choose to wear.
Love is what I choose to share.

So if you want it too
let me tie my soul
around your wrist.
Let me put my words
around your neck.
Wear my love like a sweater
when you are cold
and need something better.
Love me and let me love you.

Details | Kayla Manahan Poem

If My Heart Was a Backpack

On the outskirts of the city
a young woman walked
gazing at art and viewing it lovingly.

Inside her bright red backpack
that carried the contents of her life
was a painting. 

The painting was years old
and at one point 
had been her favorite to gaze upon
and in fact,
she loved it so much 
she had hooked it
to the inside of her backpack
and it was now part of her backpack.

But time had warn the painting
and two other paintings 
had bled onto the one she carried now,
as they slipped from her pack,
one when she was not looking
and the other floated down a river
away from her
leaving her grief stricken. 

The paintings made her less lonely,
as if the only purpose she had 
was the paintings themselves. 

While she looked for the blue painting 
she had lost down the river
she followed the current to a place
where she thought she might find it
and in the search 
she spotted another painting.

The painting looked wild,
not mild,
untamed,
and enchanting
and she made friends with the painting
and the painting made friends with her
as she gazes upon it for hours.
It's golden hues flashed in the light
as she held it tight 
but the wind came
and knocked it from her grasp,
into the water and there 
it floated down the stream.

Day after day
she wasted away
searching for the painting
and she found
quite to her amazement,
the painting had stopped on the shore
once more. 

Her eyes traced the painting's edges 
and she held it tight once again,
this time deciding that the painting
was missing something 
so she took out her brush 
and in a rush
painted in acrylics
some strokes of her own.
And she loved the painting.

She wanted to make it her own
but a fishermen came
and had said it was his alone
and he had created the painting.

She begged the painting
to follow her but the painting did not
until with one final thought,
the fisherman said 
she could have it for the day
and as the fisherman walked away
sirens blared through the air
here and there and everywhere
announcing the presence of a tornado
and she, like a criminal,
attached the painting to her backpack intending to steal it for more than a day
and as she made her way
across town
and the sun went down
she could see the tornado drawing near.

She thought she could outrun it
but she was mistaken
and rather shaken 
when the tornado came upon her 
and tossed her to and fro 
like a ragdoll with nowhere to go 
and in the process the tornado
ripped the painting from her pack
leaving the original one behind
but in the process her backpack
was torn and mangled,
as if slightly strangled 
from her attaching the painting to it
for the chord attached
had ripped a hole in the material
and to her horror she found
that the painting had been carried away
by the tornado
to a place where she could not find it
and the contents of her pack
now were missing
and she was wishing 
that the painting would return.

She still had the old painting
which she held solemnly 
and it was still attached 
but  the golden painting had bled
onto the colors of the older painting
leaving it tinted 
and not quite as pretty as before. 

So distressed was she 
that when she got back home
she tossed her pack to the side
and carefully unhooked 
the other painting,
carrying it with her in stride
and she set it down on her bed
and she promised it she'd 
never let it get hurt again 
as she mended the colors 
to look beautiful like before
but she still went back searching
from shore to shore 
looking for the golden painting
that would not return.
It was there she learned ,
as her tears flowed down her cheeks,
that she was probably nothing 
to the golden painting
and even though she had lost 
almost everything 
because of the painting
the painting had seemingly lost nothing.

So with brush in hand
she walked on,
trying to stand
and retreated home 
where she planned to sew 
the backpack that was ruined
and she became isolated
from the world
hoping one day the painting 
would show up on her doorstep
and naivity became her 
as she found herself 
at the bottom of a bottle. 

Friends, do not look 
at the golden painting
if you should fall upon it
for it is good 
but it takes its soul with it
and you will be no more.
Your heart will war
and you will become sore
from the heartache and pain
that surround it.

It is better to leave early
and never return
than to learn
the affects of the golden painting 
and have your backpack torn apart.

Details | Kayla Manahan Poem

What Lies In the Dark

Night's shadows
are always clearer than the sun's rays
because the darkness that is hidden
has a way
of presenting itself like lava
erupting from the top of a volcano.

The hidden is never so hidden. 
The scars appear visible 
though covered up by makeup.
Though there may be an eclipse
the moon is still there. 
I wonder if you would dare
to uncover the scars,
let me see the shadows, 
bring the moon back into view
and if you don't want to
that's alright.

I wanted you to know I see you.
I know you carry your wounds 
like burdens that are too heavy to bear.
I see and I care.

So if you need someone
I'll always be there
to reach inside your chest,
softly massage your heart 
so you can rest,
and bring the almost dead
back to life.

Let me wrap myself in your shadows,
gently touch your scars with my hands, 
and see the moon for what it is. 
We all need someone
to be our confidante.

Details | Kayla Manahan Poem

The Golden Painting

I've had many miracles
but none quite like you.
I was so close to giving up.
I wanted to die. 
I felt things would never change
and I
wandered into a park,
early in the day,
looking for someone 
I'd met around last May.
I had thought that man 
was my salvation.
My imagination 
was playing tricks on me
because in one fell swoop 
God took a total stranger 
and set him before me,
rearranged the circumstances
so that I could see
not all of my hope is found in man
but how sweet it is 
to find a smidgen of hope in man
and how beautiful God has created
His ultimate masterpieces 
and His works of art
and set them apart 
from the rest of creation.

He wrote the poet 
before the poet wrote,
He made the man 
before the man made anything,
and surely He created the poet
to write poetry
and the man to make things. 

There, before me, I beheld 
a painting so vivid 
my heart started on fire
and burned higher and higher
as the painting God had created
erupted with ire 
and yet even in the anger
the painting was still beautiful to me
because I could see
God created me 
to see the painting in full
and perhaps the purpose
in life is for the paintings 
to see each other
and though many a man
or woman
may have passed the painting by
there is at least one who gazes
upon it with glistening eyes
and stares in wonder at it's colors.
Beauty is in the eye of the beholder
and the one who beholds
finds more value in the painting 
than any object or any dream
that the viewer could attain. 

Yes, God made the painting 
and the viewer thanks God 
for it everyday,
that is to say 
there is no painting 
like the painting before me,
no painting I'd trade 
for the one that I see,
and secretly God made the painting
but the painting made parts of me.

Details | Kayla Manahan Poem

The Flood

My cup overflows.
Water runs from the glass to the rim,
churning forth,
flooding everything that lies in it's path.
What is this?

It seeps
into all the cracks and crevices,
all the dry land.
It fills the earth.
What is this?

It doesn't flow steady.
It increases exponentially,
growing like a tidal wave
until everything is consumed. 
What is this?

It is a soldier
willing to die for a fellow comrade,
a best friend 
willing to give all they own,
a brother
laying down his life for his kin.

When I die
I want people to understand what this is.
I want it to be so emblazoned on my soul
that people will have no doubt.

The words will tumble 
from my lips
until the sky and the Earth
cease to be.
Time itself may stop
but my words
will echo through eternity
because life is too short not to say it.

Life is far too short not to say it.

Details | Kayla Manahan Poem

Needing the High

I know I'm in trouble
because I've gone way too long
without the drug.

It's twisted itself into my soul
wound it's way around 
now it's taking its toll,
squeezing me like a viper.

Fear is setting in,
panic and pain
making its way through my veins,
I'm sure this will kill me
steal my soul, drown me,
take everything from me.

The drug,
the drug, 
the drug.
It's all I can see, 
think about, 
feel.
This is way too real. 

I'm pretty sure I made the wrong deal.
Told the devil "Here."
and now I'm paying.

What I'd give to see it,
call out to get it.

Look what I've done to myself.
I've beaten and bruised myself
for the drug,
the only drug,
my personal drug 
that takes away the pain,
if only for a day 
but then brings it back later tenfold.

It might seem like a trap
but it's sweet to taste,
feels like grace,
makes me want to waste
more time 
because this high is my crime
and now I'm paying for my crime
and I won't get away
until I've paid in full.

Details | Kayla Manahan Poem

Your Ocean

The waves crash upon the sand
beating against the shore.
At one point these waves,
which heave a heavy roar, 
engulf the coastline
pulling me in and dragging me
into the undertow.

I breath in salt,
I breath out.
I am lost in the vastness of the ocean.
I am drowning in it's depths
but if I were to drown in a place,
let me drown here.

The waves may crash over me
but I invite them.
The current may leave me hazy
but I invite it.
Yes, 
let me drown in the current of the ocean.
and sink beneath it's surface.
For there was never an ocean
as beautiful as this. 
There was never an undertow so calming
and should breathing the salt in sting
I will gladly take the sting 
for the beauty of the ocean
in which I will lie.
Yes, I will welcome 
the beauty of the ocean
where I will most likely die