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UntitledI've stepped too close to your fire. and singed some hair, how may hearts aflame.
My only memories, a kindling, my thoughts the billow, my roots ungrounded; but it is spring now, and soon i shall see my new colors.
Part 1. Still a work in progress.
Spending TimeThese years pass like no other. One would believe that time begrudges; spending it so nonchalantly as if it was a poorly made investment.
Perhaps my bank will accept my watch as a deposit. Or perhaps i shall invest my time in these pages, and when I want to withdraw back into my head, back in time; I shall be the richest.
Angelic wings(Its a bit jumpy, i had some idea where i wanted to go with it.)
She holds a coffee cup in hand
as she waits for winters frosty kiss
Her hoodie, always pulled over her knees
She sits up, looking at the night sky
each star a suspended snowflake
each star a loving soul, embarked to find home in the eyes of the created.
Snow fall like tears, crystallize, become angelic
and her wings known to all under her.
A sparing gift, so willingly given.
Her eyes a majestic beacon of hope.
Stare into her star-lit eyes.
For winter has no hold over her,
follow to her now, her star-lit eyes
and now again, be free.
and as he snuggles into her hoodie,
know of her love and kindness
she may not see her wings,
but we have seen her eyes.
Natures BlessingsThe rain drips from the tips of leaves, preciouslife, so fickle to stay.
The grass below holds the dew of the midnight rain, on the tip of the blade it holds. Unrelenting, to quench the soils thirst.
In between, the birds do fly, softest feathers gently kiss the earth, as the wind whispers apologies of broken trees. the sunflower bends to the sky,
Its brown eye stares into the sun, the pedals flutter to wave hello to its distant cousin.
Each sun beam shines on the flower, the sun beaming with pride.
When the wind pick up, a supportive friend, as the red breast takes flight.
She is destined to learn the skies. And the wind is proud.
Pens and PuzzlesHow do we piece together a puzzle?
when the edges are worn out and torn.
so forlorn are we, under the cratered moon
so where do we begin?
Search for the tape, the safety pins, the gauze,
thread the needle,
stitch it up,
Dress the wound
Pressure the cuts.
We carve out puzzles on our skin too difficult to solve
never trying to resolve them
they become more complex as the maze races along our wrists
But we soon forget why we were running.
Eyes become the pens and pencils,
tracing our mazes, and in the confusion, they give up.
As we gave up the resolve to finish our own puzzles in our head.
Fly little childChild of air and light
hiding within a cage
of leaves and twigs
why do you not rise?
One who hangs so near to the sky
has no right to neglect it
to return to the ground
and crawl amongst the worms beneath
like those you chose to rise above
like those who can only aspire
to be so near to the sky as you.
Child of feather and beauty
Hanging between wonder and despair
to do not hear the sound
of your wings' sadness
do you not hear how they weep?
How they beg for a return
for a chance
to bask amongst the clouds
for which they were meant to see.
Children of wonder and sunlight
will rise above your chains
of fear and hoplesness?
Rise and fly
above me , above the Earth
above all of us
and let us watch
from the shadows of your wings.
will you fly for yourself,
will you fly fo
I am a turtleI am a turtle
with the waters of hope
to keep me alive
and hardened to the touch
to protect a soft core.
I am a turtle
wrinkled, wrangled and dry
with a home on my back
and the world before my eyes
slowly growing nearer.
Lipstick Stained KissesMy best friend used to tell me
"Leslie Dianne, I love you and I hate you
all in the same breath."
I didn't understand what he meant.
So I shut him up with lipstick stained kisses
that tasted like my last cigarette.
He was the first boy I ever loved.
Since we were children we made blanket forts,
we played outside and counted the stars.
We both had troubled childhoods.
Left with the bitterness of abandonment, and the memories of verbal abuse
we looked in all the wrong places for love and comfort.
I was 14 years old when I learned that happiness is found at the bottom of a bottle.
Instead of making blanket forts we poured shots.
Slippery nipples, kamikaze's, Irish car bombs, liquid cocaine, screaming orgasms, tequila slammers, you name it me poured that shit and let me tell you,
I can slam down shots like I slam fucking poetry.
but now instead of playing outside we played with each other, no longer able to count the stars because we couldn't see past our blurry double vision, sky in a haz
Shattered StarsBroken glass shines under streetlamps like glittering stars,
Like distant lights from far away,
Pulled from their seat in the heavens,
What force could of pulled these stars from their places?
Razor sharp beauty, glittering like forsaken diamonds,
Dashed apon the ground.
Refracted a thousand times,
In the tiny mirrors,
Each with it's own reflection,
A thousand copies of me in the glass.
As I leave, the shards twinkle behind me.
Shattered stars smashed apon the concrete.
Mean StreetsHe walks the streets from day to night,
surviving the chaos that looms left to right.
Small children cry to him for his sack lunch,
and he cries too while they solemnly munch.
Every corner bringing a new reason to hide,
and fear the laws he knows he must abide.
Surrounded by frustration, agony and decay,
and people who don't deserve to live this way.
He walks to get work he know he won't find,
every day is a journey to the unemployment line.
Each man standing from the front to the back,
all don their own form of veterans cap.
They have fought for their country and end up here,
broken and defeated and determined to persevere.
The dirt and the filth is what its all come down to,
and he wonders if he'll ever get through...
He bows his head and mouths a silent prayer,
in hopes that someone above will wake up and care.
He longs to wake up to a world filled with green,
where the streets are not darkened and mean.
He longs to see past the blackened smoke stacks,
past the dying children and
A Noble WarHow noble and proud the government's must be,
to stick to there principles as the innocents flee.
How stedfast and honourable dispite the misery they cause,
to see such suffering yet carry on without pause.
How brave and courageous as there missiles fly,
to stick to there guns as children die.
How righteous and happy there ghosts must be,
to haunt the rubble in there land's of the free.
EpitaphWhen you're psychologically unstable
You need somebody there who can help you turn the tables
And who is able to hold on when you feel like letting go
When you think you could disappear and noone would even know
I was alone and in the shadows
Tracing scars and making cuts
Trying to live, but all for what?
I don't want others to ever feel the same
I want them to find comfort when they see my name
You may not think so but I believe I could save a lot of lives
I'm a victim of self harming and guess what - I survived.
I had no purpose, felt no end
My lonliness was my best friend
For years I fought and mostly lost
Sometimes I'd win, but at such cost
It's cliche`, I'll be the first to admit it
But I want to help
That's why I submitted
This is the something that means everything if I could make you understand
I just want to be the person who reaches back into the blackness for another victims hand
I don't want the money, the subscribers or the fame
I just want c
AbuseIs this even friendship?
I have no cuts and scars to prove the abuse
But it is still abuse.
I have no bruises or broken bones to prove the abuse
But it is still abuse.
But I can assure you
the cuts and scars and bruises are within.
Secrets are hidden from me
Lies are told to me
But is there any love for me?
My energy is being drained
My mind is being played with
My emotions are just a game
I am being manipulated.
It's been going on for too long
My anxiety and depression gets the best of me
That I often get abdominal pains.
I may not be hurting on the outside
But it hurts very much inside.
As I am hurting, my love for this friend of mine slowly
Is this emotional abuse?
the colorblind artist.My reasons are all metaphors
That rhyme is not a part of
And it becomes difficult to put
Myself at peace
With the puzzle that I am a part of
Because each notion becomes
Like a simile as each sensible choice
Becomes like an analogy
When everything I see becomes
A proverbial verse of insight for
The blind man scared of the dark
And my moments of clarity are
The trees seen before the forest
That are used to ink down my
Last sane thoughts
Under a sky which we reach for
In hopes of shining as bright as
Them when in truth,
They have already burnt out
Ice And FireCan one care too much, that one may lose himself? I would rather be lost in snow and trees, than be lost in your eyes. Not that they are cold, nor harsh, but to gaze into them and see such beauty; How did your soak up such warmth if not stolen from the Sun?
It may be cold and below freezing, and you may be away, but as time continues, chosen paths may change, and as far away as you may be, I tilt away from you, my heart still slightly frozen. Yet you still radiate such brilliance, and find away to warm my heart.
ViolinI remember the day
you told me violins
were strung with cat gut
and that is why
you hated music
(who says that to a child?)
I followed you
all that summer.
I watched you
grow away from mother -
your whiskey held better conversations
and all she did was cry.
We'd sit cross-legged on the porch
and count the horseflies
settling on our lunch.
You would drown tadpoles
in a bucket
surprised they could not swim
and I would dream
of cherry popsicles.
And when night would gather
on the sidewalk
I'd hold my breath
until a star appeared.
Don't bother making wishes
you'd tell me -
stars are dead weight in heaven
and God has cloth ears.
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