at Peace    1969 -   
Thou cometh the Winter
in discontent
the leaves of Summer
must give up the rent
~ Helen 04/05/14

Remember this,
To be touched
is not just
Fingertips on skin
Hugs of the soul
are a deeper embrace
They reach beyond
the human face
to see where
you truly begin
~ Helen 26/12/13

'When the time comes
place the coin,
beneath my tongue
so I may pay
Charon!
Or else my
journey
has scarce begun'
~ Helen 01/12/13
Thou cometh the Winter
in discontent
the leaves of Summer
must give up the rent
~ Helen 04/05/14

Remember this,
To be touched
is not just
Fingertips on skin
Hugs of the soul
are a deeper embrace
They reach beyond
the human face
to see where
you truly begin
~ Helen 26/12/13

'When the time comes
place the coin,
beneath my tongue
so I may pay
Charon!
Or else my
journey
has scarce begun'
~ Helen 01/12/13
Helen
Helen
1 day ago

love, love, love, love, love, love
an endless litany
It forms the rope
that hangs
love lost, love found
love that just
hangs around
Love
the bards sang!
Love
the poets wept
nursing broken bones
Love
the tired sheep bleat
love, love, love, love, love, love
so endless is the night
without it
so heartbreaking to live
without it
so cutting can it be
so masochistic
don't you see?
love, love, love, love, love, love
if you don't have it
you uninvited it
continually writing
about it
brings it back
not one bit

  Reposted by Helen  ·  2 days ago
tn
tn
2 days ago      2 days ago

Now at 3:25 a.m.
All that matters to me
Is how your lips would feel
If they were slowly dancing with mine
How your skin would feel
If it were underneath my fingertips
And imagining the way your hands
Would curl around mine in the dark.
And I believe
That this is an improvement
On things that matter to me
At 3:25 a.m.
Because my mornings
Used to be dark and lonely
They were not beautiful
They did not make me feel butterflies
But this is what happens
When you fall in love
You trade in that loneliness
For a garden of daisies
Because if they like daisies, you like daisies.
And suddenly all that matters
Is watering that garden
And watching it grow
And praying a drought won't appear
Because at 3:25 a.m.
You're the entire world to me
And I don't want it any other way

t.n.

#love   #happy   #garden   #morning   #daisies  
Helen
Helen
2 days ago

I hold a small piece of you in my hand. It's just a tiny piece but mind you, it's the most important piece I have. It's the piece of you that you forever tried to give to others. It's the piece of you that you held closest to you. It's the tiniest piece of you, but I hold it tight. I hold it in my hands because its mine by right, mine by divinity, mine by persistence, it's mine because I fought for it, I own it, I won it fair and square...
It's the tiniest piece that you tried to share with other girls in the dark, in the park, in the back room of some dim lit bar but the chip in it didn't become a crack, it's not you that lacked, it was them that couldn't separate a part of you that belonged to me, no matter how the little tart tried. No matter in what dark corner you wanted so hard to hide your act. I own that little piece of you and I'll never give it back.

Helen
Helen
5 days ago

lah de dah de dah de dum
lah de dum de dum de dah
lah de dah de dah de dum
la dah dum de lah de dah

they called it a stroke
even then, I understood
but I never got the answer


You never spoke again
so I interpreted for you

My journey has just begun
I travel, but not far
My journey has just begun
You must stay where you are

lah de dah....

My journey...
  Reposted by Helen  ·  5 days ago
The Dread Poet Roberts
5 days ago      July 24, 2014

Paste your love
But Cut your emotions
Copy everything that's worked before
Delete the worst parts of yourself
Undo any mistakes
And send

  Reposted by Helen  ·  6 days ago
Joshua Haines
Joshua Haines
6 days ago      6 days ago

Dear Talia,

I don't want to be a tortured artist.
I don't want to be depressed and I don't want to be anxious.
Competitive sadness and disorders treated like accessories disgust me.

The world glamorizes mental illness, and I don't understand why. There is nothing romantic about being mentally ill just like how there's nothing glamorous about a broken wrist or a torn medial collateral ligament. There's nothing romantic about constantly being afraid that the world will fold in itself and suck you with it. There's nothing romantic about feeling like you could break down and cry at any moment.

This is the first piece I've written while being medicated.

I want it to be Christmas already.

The world dreams itself a halo, but can only attain horns. The halo is an illusion and the horns are an idea.

I'm due to take another Lorazepam. Would I look cool to the kids who idolize dysfunction and misinterpret pain as style, if I were to take one of these, with water and a distant glance, in front of them? Geez, to have their approval would to have everything and nothing at all.

I'm not sure why I've written as much about this as I have.

You.

It is 2:48 am and all I can think about, in this moment, is you.

I can't wait to spend Christmas with you. I can't wait to wear bad Christmas sweaters, and be the couple everyone hates, as we sing Christmas carols and spread holiday cheer.

I wrote this poem a few minutes ago. Sometime around 2:30 am. I'm not sure. I'm exhausted:

I sat on the edge of my bed, and on the edge of my life,
medicated to the point of pointlessness. Soft.
It was the nineteenth, not the twentieth,
and I wished I saw the fireworks with her fifteen days earlier.

My gasps tore the shingles off of the house.
And they hung suspended above the hole in the roof.
And God stared down into my room, as the shingles swirled skyward.
"I see you," I said, "but I don't believe in you."

I left home and ran until I was a dream that had passed itself.


I hope that was okay.

I love you.


Yours,

Joshua Haines

Helen
Helen
6 days ago      6 days ago

The whys or where's
nor the for art thous
or the perhaps now
I know not
the love me nows
nor loved me then
or even the when
I know not
the cerulean sky
nor the indigo goodbye
or the softest sigh...
I know not
when words tried
nor when the rhythm died
or Poetry became a lie
I know not
the how's or wherefores
or keeping score
but
I know when
love of something
begins to end
bleeding from lacerations
bashed against rocks...
I know then...

 
To comment on this poem, please log in or create a free account
Log in or register to comment