Drawing, photography, beading, painting, cooking, baking, camping,
anything artistic, I enjoy doing.
I am the graphite in the pen which you hold.
I make my appearances where you place me, and nowhere else.
You use me to scratch out your thoughts
You use me to draw these lines of conformity to which I do not wish to abide
But I must - as you create these lines from myself.
Write on, you hold the power the same way you hold me.
With a firm, yet slightly loose grip, you hold all control.
"I do not wish for this."
I was once full, respectable and of use, but you have worn me down.
I have been over used, and as simple graphite I can not simply put myself together again.
You have diminished my encasing, sharpened away my boundary's.
All that's left is but a nub, with no eraser.
Who will ever want to hold me now.
Shifting times -
The turn of a season.
It's a beautiful, and dramatic change
Which slowly envelops all life.
Coercing leaves to the ground,
And coaxing the cold white into making it's first appearance.
This change happens every year before our eyes -
Plants and animals all change their ways
Yet our habits stay the same.
Man does not react as efficiently as the rest of life;
Man does not always notice this vast change
Until he sees the final leaf fall from tree.
A bewildering delight of emotions
coaxed out from hiding in the back of the mind.
It will take everything in me to keep myself in line.
I have always been this container, in a way.
With each event in my life which I enjoy
I'll fill myself up to the brim,
always taking in as much of things as I can.
You filled me. I felt whole,
Then you took everything away
And now I am left, empty and shattered.
I can no longer contain things,
There is a hole in me.
Regardless of what I love, and how hard I work to keep it,
I will be drained.
My voice is not my loudest form of communication,
And by no means is my voice the strongest.
The words I feel and wish to say are not the ones so easily spoken;
The words I feel are the most meaningful are those that spend their lives on paper,
These words which are folded up and tucked away in a notebook.
Ask any poet, I am certain this is a common thought;
That our words have more meaning when they are written and not spoken.
What I write has always meant more and shown more than anything I have ever said,
And the context in which I read my poetry is never in tune with the words on a page.
My writing is who I am, but it must remain in silence, unspoken.
Those who really would like to get to know me have only to read my writing.
These words are mine but are easily taken.
These thoughts are mine but are easily mistaken.
I can create anything I wish with letters in groups on a page.
I can not create the feeling a reader gets from reading them.
Putting feelings and description, texture, into words
Does not have the same effect to every pair of eyes which gaze over them.
I wish I could insert a feeling instead of a word or letters here.
I wish I could convey my thoughts in word
Where the world could understand me.
To want is a funny thing.
We know we do not need these things in which we want,
Yet we want them so much, we feel we need them.
Our wants make our needs feel unwanted.
I want to want, without need.
I'd like a little more self control in the aspect, though who wouldn't.
Anyone who has desired for another person knows this feeling,
You want them so bad you feel you need them.
You only want, but you're convinced that you need.
Escaping these chains produced in our minds
which connect our wants to our needs, is un-probable.
Realistically we shouldn't want anything,
But convincingly, everything in this world tells us otherwise.
I am searching for darkness in light,
With my eyes almost closed, cause it's bright.
Craving a little darkness, this thing I don't need
Craving a little darkness, the thing from which I feed.
A perfect room with a steady bright light,
Perfect for sustaining a life.
Yet I consider the place hostile, and filled with strife
Cause all I want is to turn out that light.
I am sure your words smile back at you;
In the very same way that I used to.
Given they can never smile as sincerely as I would for you,
And certainly not with the same adoration.
Should you find more comfort in your words;
In the lies you tell yourself, so be it.
I have done all that I can.
I have done more than I could.
Now I am left,
To see you gain a larger smile from a lie you tell yourself,
Than the love which I gave you that was true.
I am sure your words, smile back at you..
I thrive in the chaos of this nothingness I have been left in.
With a deceptive mind and a lingering cold now forever attached to my side -
I embark on a journey long overdue, but know in it the ending, that will end up true.
Storms surrounding me set alight the obstacles to overcome
- as the chaos controls my thoughts.
The overwhelming urge to make even the hurt that has been done unto me -
it thrives in the silence of this winter storm.
To call on to what fills the emptiness
and finish this all once and for all, I can not do.
For I can not ever, know the ending that does end up true.
Eagerness and willingness -
Is what comes with all that equals bliss.
Time gets consumed and left behind,
As the past lingers in your daily life
and causes your mind to fill with strife.
Where this ends, it all begins again
to wind you up - with no real end.
This world is filled with people.
Each one with a quality I desire to have,
Each one a reflection of what I want to be.
Even if I tried, to have style, to look good, to be skinny,
I couldn't pull it off, and it isn't me.
I will never be a girl with style, and I will never be a girl to make any other jealous.
Yet every day the jealousy I have of others consumes my mind and makes me hate myself more.
All of what I want to be, is what I will never be.
Everything I want to be, can never be seen in me.
Step one to destroying myself;
Fall for the criticism, starve yourself and over exercise daily.
Spend all of the money which you do not have on clothing and accessories that will make people like you.
Cut and dye your hair, ensure that an hour is spent on it each morning at the least.
Make sure everyone can tell that you spent a lot of time on your looks.
Forget what you care about and what you think,
Ensure that anything you say directs attention away from yourself.
Make sure people like you, even if you do not like them.
After all, nothing you have to say matters, and no one cares about your life story.
Make sure that no one ever finds out how broken you are, or how much you hate yourself.
The only way to appear as a strong intelligent woman is to keep your emotions hidden and your mouth shut.
If the world were to end tonight,
We wouldn't see how much of our lives have been wasted.
All regrets surface, at the proposal of death.
Time is a continuous motion
It does not stop to smell the flowers
It does not race forward to desired moments.
Time will continue on, even when the world is brought to a stop.
Yet, the thought of our end can cause humanity to race around,
to relate themselves with time as though time could be held or attained.
Time is what guides us through life -
As a race, we have labeled time in many different ways.
A second, a minute, an hour, a week.
Time is never ending, yet we still divide it into sections.
Time is never ending,yet we still wish to label it,
For something with a label becomes reality.
What was once just a bottle can become a brand or an image,
We can turn simple things into attainable goods, but not time.
Time is always there, it is always here, and it always has been.
Labeling time in sections makes it easier for us to understand its length,
But a week has no start, nor a solid end,
A week is a week, a length of time, at any point in time.
If the world were to end today
Time would continue, and what is left of our planet would continue with it.
Life is not what gives time value,
Time, is what gives life value.
I love the way your words feel,
As they slip softly off of your tongue.
Regardless the meaning of words,
The sound is elegant and smooth.
Each feeling expressed with syllables and sound
Is untouched and as raw as what drew words from your mouth.
There are no lies, to lie here.
You are open, you are free.
This is what it is to be happy.
You are what you are, and I'm happy.
A color scheme settles, into the black and white.
The areas once shaded, crosshatched, and scratched out
Have been evenly filled in with vibrant colors.
A yellow sets itself within the confines of lines on a page
As the dense blue stains heavy paper, with a bold sincerity.
Details without color, drew out texture and description.
Greens brought out life in these lines,
Red, added a thrill and suspense.
I am black and white,
I am simple, but complex to the detail.
Let's not ruin a good thing,
Color is complexity.
You are the ice that layers itself under the snow,
And what I have to watch out for with each step, as I walk.
You are always there, in my mind.
But you are not always here, because if you are I can't see you.
It seems so complex,
The way that you linger around
Even after you're long gone.
But this is as simple as ice in the winter.
When I think it is safe to run,
I may slip and fall down again.
Because you are always there.
You are always here, my ice.
I can not rid you from my life entirely,
as much as I wish it were possible.
I will make the same mistakes,
If I do not watch where I am walking.
I must live with the realization that the ground is not solid.
knowing that walking on, is not as easy as I have remembered.
He taught me how to hate myself
With comments I could not understand.
I was but a young girl, who had not yet discovered this world.
He taught me how to hate myself, instead of love myself for who I am.
He drank and swore, and smashed possessions,
Then degraded me for my confessions.
The person I looked up to.
The one who was supposed to help me through
All of this misery, which he made true.
But what is a young girl to do.
He taught me how to hate myself,
By consistently raising the bar higher.
He taught me how to hate myself.
He taught me to be a liar.
Expectations set the tune,
of a song I could never sing.
No matter what I would ever do,
Perfection I could not bring.
So why is this who I am today?
because he taught me how to hate myself.
And hate myself I do.
He taught me how to hate myself,
And to not believe the truth.
I want your time, and your love,
Your caring, and your adoration.
I want you, This is all I want.
I want too much.
I thought that a relationship was to be strengthened by time.
I thought that love was to be shared together, not apart.
I thought I knew what love was.
I thought I knew.
Then I learned Love is a cold hearted bitch.
Love is the asshole who doesn't deserve you, and the one you will always go back to.
Love is what kills your heart, and tears your soul out right in front of you,
Then precedes to let you know that you will never get it back.
Love is pain, love is sorrow, and love is regret.
Love is what you never know until you lose it.
Love is hatred toward yourself.
Love is violence, addiction and agony.
Love is destruction.
Your eyes have been embedded in my mind.
And your image has lingered on longer than your presence.
This memory will not fade. Those eyes, they still remain.
This picture is not going anywhere. This will not go anywhere.
This will stay with me, a reminder.
Of what once was.
Of what can never.
It's in my blood. It's in my skin.
This is part of who I am, It is what has nurtured my mind through this life.
It has shaped me and created the person who I am today, right before me.
It has destroyed the relationships with who I have cherished most dearly,
And it has me suspended, unable to be close with anyone who I truly love.
It has me destroying myself slowly, from the inside out. Day after day.
It has me pondering thoughts which should have settled beneath a layer of dust, ages ago.
But still, this lingers. It resides in my core, the hollowness.. this emptiness.
This is where my heart should be.
This is my demise.
This emptiness is spreading like a Cancer, I can feel it grow and make my lungs feel weak.
It wants more. It will take more. I am just a body for this destruction to reside.
Once this takes me, and consumes me whole.. I fear what will be.
I can feel it now, growing, and resonating inside, waiting for its day.
It's only a matter of time, before this gets to my head.
I had a dream today, I wished that I was crazy.
I actually wished that I were mad, or insane.
Maybe I am just looking for excuses,to rid me of my past.
Perhaps I am wanting to feel something. Any goddamn thing..
As long as it isn't this emptiness inside of me.