You laid your eyes on me and beamed. Oh gosh I can feel my stomach flutter!
You walked away. I turned away. Maybe he doesn’t want to see me.
Someone is calling someone and suddenly I hear someone calling my name.
That voice, the voice I wanted to hear everyday,
The same voice I dream to have conversations with.
I missed that voice. The voice I used to hear singing me songs.
The voice I used to hear saying my name, sweetly.
That voice that sent shivers through my spine.
The same voice that I hear even when I’m dreaming.
Your voice who told me those two big words, “Trust me.”
I glance back and saw you, nearer. As if you wanted to talk to me.
That hair, your messy hair that goes beyond perfect with your looks.
Those dimples, your five goddamn dimples that will only be visible when you smile.
And yet I’m seeing that smile, as if it was made for me, only for me to see.
Those eyes, those brown smoky eyes that lit up my soul whenever I look at it.
But I instantly pushed those thoughts away. Maybe he’ll going to ask me why I’m here.
“Why are you here?” Watching you. I’m watching you from afar. That’s the truth!
“I just want to talk to her.” To you! It’s you that I want to talk to, always.
⎯ “I need to ask her something.” What’s wrong with my mouth? It says clashing words from what I really wanted to say. It’s like it’s have it’s own life that I can’t control. Or maybe,
I’m just afraid to reveal my feelings in view of the fact that you might not feel the same.
“Oh, I thought you’re wat⎯” you murmur, “never mind. It’s nothing.” You walked away.
And as your body walk off with mine, you brought my heart but never left yours with mine.
Most of the times it confuse me, why are we afraid?
Here we go again… Afraid to say the words worth saying, and not risking anything.
And maybe, I’ll kill that someone who introduce us the phrase, “Prevention is better than cure.”
As it is harder to prevent someone you love, when you know that it’s them who can cure you.
A dark river
The treacherous rapids,
and stretches of gentle water,
that never last.
Even the river ends,
spilling out into a lake
or an ocean,
or even another river.
Some rivers are underground.
Those are the darkest rivers,
one hopes they can cross when the time comes.
But from this position,
on top of a small pile of rocks,
in the gentle stretch of the river,
there are rapids ahead,
another battle to be fought.
But beyond the churning water,
is this mist.
it's so beautiful,
it feels safe,
but it's unknown.
And if the battle is won,
i'll be lost in that sparkling mist,
that hides all shadows.
When the sun rises
and the mist fades away,
will I fade as well?
Or, when the mist fades
will it clear my vision?
But I have to leave my island
and fight those dark, churning waters
Then I'll know for sure.
i know it probably wasn't meant for me
but as always,
i pour your words straight into my heart
and they are pumped through my veins,
flowing miles through my body
until they are echoing against
the walls of my ribcage
and leaking from
the ducts of my eyes.
broken glass can be dangerous to clean up,
it might cut your fingers and the blood
could stain your shirt,
or a lingering, invisible splinter
could cause you pain for weeks.
but if you are careful and take your time,
making sure to collect even the smallest slivers,
and handle each piece delicately
because there is no need to rush,
then you might not get hurt.
a broken vase may never again resemble
its initial form,
but with love and patience,
dedication, creativity, and time,
you can take the broken pieces
and make something whole again.
art formed from broken pieces
has always been the most beautiful to me,
maybe because it's the tangible proof
of second chances.
the vase, once full of emptiness,
now has room to be filled again
with something new.
summer caught me
like a hammock. i was
sure i would fall through,
turn into diamond shapes
between the woven rope
and drip, shimmering
off the curve of the earth
whenever the breeze
i was unsteady on my feet so he stole kisses from me whimsically
on the lawn. at first i thought that it made me dirty, then he said
everything that could be held is damp and crying salt in the palms
of affinity, and it all starts from the ground, that’s when i grew
captivated by his asymmetry and
saw queen anne’s lace
flourishing in the still center
of his rain softened eyes.
the air was pink powdered sugar
and it tickled each time we inhaled
it wove ribbons into my hair and
tied itself in figure eights around my feet,
i trip over this drug infinity
i wonder when my limbs turned to phantom
my sleep to hot sweat hallucination
dissolved the melt-in-my-mouth dreams but
i’d also like to think in
a somewhere’s summer
he is driving windows
down with that girl who
he thought could never
love him back
she finally realized what
i know: there is no better
soundtrack for any season
and they are both singing
together with the cicadas.
Running through these dark halls,
being chased by bulls and
my own thoughts.
I'm more afraid of the bulls.
My thoughts are dull and focus on
rocket science and The Green Arrow.
That might be a lie.
I am no scientist.
The arrow flies through this thick air.
I am choking on the pollution of others.
Air so dense,
it makes the weeds ashamed.
They are pushed off of their pedestal.
What happens if I fall?
Left to die in this dark hall.
Crawling towards freedom,
while the hall runs away from my memories.
The door grows larger,
encompassing the wall.
The door handle is made of solid brass,
too heavy to turn.
A knocking fills the hall with thunderous applause.
all is white,
I can smell the subtle hint of perfume and
feel the wind on my face.
It's comforting to know
that this is how I will die.
Happiness fades to sadness,
Just as the sun fades to dark.
Alone and cold
I feel agony, hopelessness, despair.
My world that was once filled with sunshine
Is now pitch black.
The peace and serenity
Is now anger and frustration.
The love and caring
Is now hatred and bitterness.
But just as the sun fades to dark,
The dark fades to light.
And the cycle repeats itself
© Fully Copyrighted, all rights reserved. Rebekah Fleck.
I am an artist.
I can make myself into something new
Imagine the possibilities you could
Just let me know what you want.
Here, flip through this magazine for some
And tell me what you like best!
It’s all about pleasing your audience
It doesn't matter what I want,
Nobody cares about that.
They just want to see something pretty.
I sculpt and paint imagery out of tools
To end up with a fake canvas.
Day to day I suppress myself with the lies.
I chip and chisel,
Dissect and carve,
Bits and pieces,
Until I’m left trembling,
Just to be tossed away in the end.
Splashes of red,
And strokes of black ignite your appeal,
And this is what you label as real?
Hunger strikes itself through the bones
Revealing its power through the limbs
Of the body, eye sockets, sinking down,
Death could possibly be the resemblance.
What a terrible piece, a shame it is.
Maybe just a few more tweaks,
And it will at least look halfway decent.
Trim down the sides,
Thin out any extras,
Fill in what is needed.
Even just a tad more color,
Then we have something.
Time strolls by,
A year soon passes,
And one day I just happen to actually
And look at my masterpiece,
But only for a moment.
In the mirror,
A reflection stares back at a wretched,
Beads of liquid build up into my pallid
Unable to contain the weight of their
reasons any longer,
Tears begin to burst,
They trickle down my rose stained
Fueled by the absence of perfection,
And I feel nothing.
Needs more work.