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Best Poems Written by Maura Webb

Below are the all-time best Maura Webb poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Maura Webb Poem

I was in second grade when I started comparing myself to other girls.
I asked myself, “why am i not her?” “why are my thighs bigger?” “why can’t i have her blonde hair that seems to flow in the wind when boys chase her around the playground, while i sit underneath the slide and wait for my turn that never seems to come?

i was nine years old when i first started hating what i saw staring back at me in the mirror. i thought my body was too big, that my legs were too muscular. that my teeth were too crooked. that i was too me, and not enough of her.

i was in fifth grade when i first learnt what the word “annoying” meant and what a “diet” was. i also learned that i should just keep my mouth shut, because why open it when i have nothing useful to say and nothing beautiful to show?

i was 13 when i first cried in the bathroom at school because a boy liked blonde hair better than brown and i was 13 when i first started starving myself because i couldn't bear for another calorie to be added to my oh-so-heavy 100 pound me.

when i was in 8th grade, i started to measure my self worth based off of what others thought of me. if a guy looked at my ass, then i was worth something. at school dances, my friends and i, we used to count the number of boys that asked us to dance. we’d go to someone’s house afterward and giggle and compare the amount. we’d feel dignified if we were the one with the most. like it proved something. it decided who was the most popular. the most beautiful.

when i was in 8th grade, i also learned what slitting my wrists meant and i realized that it was easy to take away my pain. i learned what it felt like to have your dignity striped away and have one of your best friends leave you. i was told i wasn't good enough. i was told i wasn't pretty enough. i was told i was annoying, that i disappointed my family, that i didn't deserve life.
so i believed them.
and i almost ended the most precious gift that i have ever been given.

and my freshman year of high school, i didn't only let myself enter a new school but i also let another person enter me. i thought that because he wanted me, i was beautiful. i traded my integrity for another’s lust. my innocence was striped away by a boy who didn't even know my last name.

the summer of my senior year, i was raped. a boy decided that he was selfish enough to take a piece of me that wasn’t his to take. i cried. i smoked. i drank to forget. but nothing could eat the pain.
nothing eases the pain felt because of assault .
nothing eases the pain felt because of society.
nothing eases the pain felt because of small-minded people who believe that some are better than others.
nothing eases the pain.

This Poem Is For All People Struggling With Society.
Remember: You Are Society. Don’t Struggle With Yourself.

Details | Maura Webb Poem

The Warrior Without Armor

There is a fire in my soul.
I realize that I, along with time, will soon die
But i quiver with fear at the sight of pain
And i cover my ears to the sound of agony
I am not a warrior
My fire is easy to deplete.
My battle scars are numerous,
and my victories few.
My mind reaches new levels of anxiety when I think of the clock
Ticking. Ticking. Ticking.
The ticking will soon stop. 
The batteries soon to be depleted. 
The fire will soon burn out 
Or it will be washed with torment and sorrows.
I want the sounds to go away.
I want the endless talking in my head to cease. 
I do not know how to end it. 
Not the time, but the pain.
I want more time. 
I am greedy,
or at least my head keeps telling me so.
I do not know how to end it.
The endless talking.
The endless whispering.
The endless madness.
I just want it to end.
It to en-
.
.
.
.
.


-She didn’t believe she was a warrior.

Details | Maura Webb Poem

Momma

"momma he told me he loved me," the little 9 year old girl cried. "he told me he loved me but I said no."

"why did you say no?" the mother questioned. "isn't love good?"

"momma he doesn't love me. how could he love me? I am me, he is he. I cannot be loved, I cannot be cherished. I am nothing more than a tangled mop of corn rows and holey dresses."

"darling," the mother said softly, "if he loves you, he will love you for you. he will brush out your knots and he will patch up your dresses. you both may not be perfect alone, but together you will make an unstoppable duo. he will love you for the beautiful 9 year old you are."

the mother then wiped the daughter's tears. the daughter hugged her momma and promised she would never change for anything.

but puberty hit, and sooner or later the little girl was a teenager. she obsessed over minuscule details, constantly torn between her values and her popularity. she went from door to door looking for love, but to no avail.

one day, after a rough day of school bells and textbooks, the daughter came home, flushed in tears.

her momma became worried and sat her down on the flower adorned sofa.

"momma, does he love me? he tells me one thing, but his actions say another. he tells me I'm important, but I don't think i am. I am lost in a labyrinth with no map. tell me momma, does he love me?"

the mother looked at her daughter and appeared hurt.

"darling," the mother said with a slight frown, "you should know if he loves you. he should shower you with love and adorn you with his heart. If he does not do these things, he is not worthy of your love. he may or may not love you, but he will not be loved by you. for you, my dear, are as ornate as a sapphire. you are a diamond among a million rocks. do not let your shine wear out. polish yourself. do not blend in with the rocks, for you my darling, were born to stand out. if a boy takes this shine away from you, he has captured you. you have given him everything. instead, look for the boy who will help you polish. look for the one who would pick you out among a million rocks. look for the one who picks the one in a millionth girl, because that is who you are. a one in a million girl deserves a one in a million boy."

Details | Maura Webb Poem

First Love

that old song came on the radio today.
I smiled softly, letting my hair meet the gentle force of the wind through the windows of my pickup.
nostalgia creeped into my heart and mind, sending an array of mixed feelings into my being.
I thought of your smile.
the way you tilted your head back and laughed.
the first time we kissed
and how it was like we belonged in a movie.
I remember feeling so secure in your arms
but so empty when you stormed out the door.
we were all flame, soon to burn out.
we had no substance.
we just had emotions.
 the emotions weren't enough.
God knows how much we wanted it to work.
but it couldn't.
you dreamt of New York
and I dreamt of home-cooked meals.
we were different beings.
different aspirations, different dreams.
i dreamt of stars, you dreamt of stardom.
we were always two galaxies apart
with no intercession.
we were just two kids in love.
we didn't know how to deal with the feelings we were feeling.
we didn't realize the amount of work a relationship needed.
we were too caught up in ourselves.
and for a while I couldn't bear to hear your name.

but for the first time,  that old song came on today.
and I smiled.
and I thought of you.

Details | Maura Webb Poem

Sixteen Going On Seventeen

sixteen going on seventeen

caught up in her own mind
of fears and dreams
of love and lust
of sex and dreams
with no idea
of her place
or which path

caught up in her mediocreness
of her mediocre talents
of her dreams
of boys and men
of magazines
telling her who to be
what to see
what to write
what to wear

caught up in society's games
of eating disorders
and depression
of rebellion
of responsibility
of anger
of angst

stuck between not caring 
enough
and caring too little
of being herself
or being the person
she has imagined herself to 
be

her only escape
is the poems she 
writes
an the music she 
listens

she tries to talk
to her parents
to her friends
but none take her
seriously

they see her 
as the person she has
pretended to be
she 
was not
mediocre 
at pretending

the person she imagined herself
to be
was the person she actually
became


this 
was a
typical poem
written by a 
typical teenage
girl

sixteen going on seventeen

Details | Maura Webb Poem

Me Too

My youth minister once told me that seventeen was too young to have felt the pain that I'd felt. She told me that seventeen was too young to be so corrupted, so scarred. According to her, seventeen was supposed to be a year of self-discovery and growth. But yet, to me, seventeen was the year spent at the bottom of a full glass, with my screams only rippling at the surface.
Seventeen was the year a boy failed to view me as a human being. Instead, this boy viewed my drunken body as a playground. Despite my cries, he decided it was okay to swing on my swings, slide down my slide, cross my monkey bars. Despite my avid “no’s,” this boy decided didn't stop. To him, I was inferior only because my body was slumped and his wasn't.
I remember my best friend attempting to bang the door down and you telling me shut up because my friends would think you were raping me. I remember light flooding into the room, my best friend’s silhouette and angry shouts cascading over the darkness. I remember my other friend, gently cradling my head in her lap. I remember shakily looking in the bathroom mirror, dizzily staring at a hickey on my neck that I hadn't consented for. I remember returning home the next day, not remembering. I couldn't recall if you had raped me using just your hands or if we had become one flesh. I remember crawling into my bed, draping my lavender butterfly comforter over my arms and legs, basking in the darkness of my room. I remember coddling my faded, green stuffed frog my aunt and uncle had given to me as a present on my first birthday. I remember laying there, feeling intruded, invaded. I remember touching myself, tracing my once well known freckles. I remember that for the first time, my freckles didn't feel like my freckles. My hair didn't feel like my hair. My stomach didn't feel like my stomach. I wanted so badly to rip off my skin and put a new layer on, yet I couldn't. I was trapped in my own body. I wanted to scream, to cry, to run away. Yet I stayed there, laying in my bed, thinking of all the reasons why you decided to come onto me. I put all the blame on myself, my skin forever scarred with assault. Your voice haunted me, your touch lingered on my body. If you had known what your actions would do to me, would you still have done them? If you had known that I, now a sophomore in college, still occasionally trace my skin and feel you, would you still have so forcefully touched me? I try to believe that you wouldn't, and that you simply didn't respect me as a woman. I hope that you read this, and I hope that you ask God for forgiveness and that you find forgiveness within yourself. I hope that you find Jesus’ loving grace because without it, I would still be at the bottom of that full glass, with my agonizing screams only rippling at the surface. I'm a firm believer that God can make even the ugliest hearts beautiful, so I'm a strong believer that He can transform yours, too.
#MeToo

Details | Maura Webb Poem

Riddle

I am a distorted disturbance in the dark. 
Generated by my victim, I forsake it. 
I leave it to be ruled by its own darkness. 
Avid of power, I wreck havoc from hell. 
I am a fog cloud that alters the brain;
I flick the switch from fact to fiction. 
I attack with full force, abandoning all good. 
As a shape shifter, I slither my way through slumber. 
I embody evil, eager to destroy minds. 
With a swoosh, I smother the thought creator. 
What is it that you think I am?

Details | Maura Webb Poem

County Dock

And as you're sitting with old souls
watching another day draw to a close
listening to the sounds of frivolous chatter
and endless melodies,
you realize that the same sun has been rising and setting for years upon year.
day by day nothing seems to change, but as days become weeks, and weeks become months, and months become years, time takes its toll on the world.
time changes you, and you become one with time, aging as time ages. 
time is not infinite and these talks with old souls on county dock will cease to exist. 
your time together is limited, of which the limits are unknown. 
time is critical to your development, yet is what unravels you.
time is what makes you, you.
and as you're sitting on county dock with an old pal, you are blessed with the rare opportunity to reach back into the past and entwine it with the present. 
the two times collide, brushing past each other and leaving nostalgia in its wake.
and as the moon rises and the sun sets, another day is upon you.
another minute is ticking by and another daybreak is being broken.
do not let time define you, but instead define time.

Best Poems Written by Maura Webb

Why

Forgiveness

Society

The Warrior Without Armor

Momma

First Love

Sixteen Going On Seventeen

Me Too

Riddle

County Dock