this life is a long winding road,
and what a dull one it'd be
if I had to tread it alone....

My dear,
they say that a poem is a work of art.
they say that It is emotion,
pouring from your bleeding heart.
and I find that to be quite true,
but not every emotion is happiness anew.
the sadness the anger and pain and fear,
they each have a place to reside in here.
for such raw emotion does set the tide
for the torrent of words
that in a poem, does reside.

A puppet girl, all dressed up, with painted lips and lined eyes, stands on her toes as she spins and glides.
Guided by her puppet strings she swirls and twirls around the ring.
Round and round this dusty stage she gets up and dances day after day.
The hands that hold her gentle yet firm show her just how much she must learn.
The hands grow fierce, music harsh,as they pull and push her into a perfect arch.
A string then snaps, poor puppet goes loose, abandoned and alone as they tie her a noose.
A puppet girl, all banged up, with chipped paint and bleary eyes, slumps alone as she starts to cry.
Musical laughter fills the ring, as she hears someone begin to sing.
Clanking clattering across the stage, she drags her limbs out of her cage.
She topples and falls tangled in string, trying to find the source of the singing.
Kneeling before her, with beautiful wings, is another girl living her dreams.
A puppet girl, just like her, moving with ease, unburdened by the need for strings.
"Are you an angel?" she rubs her eyes trying to see if this girl is a lie.
the girl before her smooths over her dress, before gliding into a curtsy and saying "yes."
"I wish to be an angel like you, then I could be free to move."
The angel tilts her head, her smile sly, before opening her mouth to reply,
"As you wish it, it shall be so."
then with terrible grace and ease, she cuts off the strings...
and with it she holds the Poor Puppet Girl's head,
her body lays crumpled up,
shes.... dead.
"Shh." she whispers as she cradles the head,
she spins and glides claiming shes been naughty,
and attaches the puppet girls head on an angels body.
And as the puppet girl blinks her eyes,
she realizes she's back to life.
in a form now free of strings,
she can dance and spin as she may please.
then she sees her body crumpled where it now lies,
and with a shuddering sob she begins to cry.
the angel takes her hand in hers
and with a crazy smile and mad glint in her eyes
she starts to sing:
"hush little one,
now we are the same.
don't worry baby,
no more pain.
Now listen to me child,
let blood fall like blissful rain,
and we shall free those who remain,
free them from these awful chains."

Hello.
I am the trending poem.                                                            ­            
         you see me and I make you feel alive
                                             so you like me and re-post me
                                                              ­    then you leave me alone to die.
Hello,
I am your forgotten lines.
             you created me with a careful love
                                                          an­d decisive rhymes
                                      and then to the bottom of your page I'm shoved.
Hello
I am forgotten, alone and unloved
                           a faded smile a broken dove
                                               I once was beautiful, touching.
                                                       ­   now, I've been replaced, I'm nothing.

its always fascinated me,
you know...
how silently death comes,
how one moment,
all is right with the world...
and deaths touch goes unnoticed
until it is.
then it freezes.
and come crashing down
and your crying,
the whole world is crying and screaming along with you until the screams crack and you loose your voice drowning in your silent
tears,
when 2 seconds ago....
you were fine.
suddenly present becomes past.

A girl in a snow globe, delights in her world,
she watches, enchanted, as the snow falls down,
it drifts and glides and swirls around
before finally landing upon the ground.
until one day she notices the glass,
and she understands (realizes)  the prison at last.

I have always advocated that we must push beyond merely existing. We must live. Unapologetically. With out hesitation or reservations. “To be the spark that ignites the fire within all we cross paths with.”
How foolishly hopeful that seems now.
I have become exactly what I despised.
Fallen into the lull that is stagnation. Hushed by the silence of acceptance and helplessness that has draped over my existence.
With no hobbies or goals to speak of I have seemed to lose the drive to burn like a flame. And worse yet, I cannot seem to convince myself that it is something I can escape, or that I should even attempt to break out of this trance.
I had fancied myself to be unique. Fearless to the rules that society has placed in attempt to squish us into the mold of complacency. When really, I have been fooling myself all along.
Right now, as I am,
I am not unique.
I am not brave.

She was a hurricane.

And when the storm hit,

I had a choice to make.

To play it safe and run away,

Forget her smirk, the wild glint in her eyes.

Or to grab her hand with a smirk of my own

And chase the storm,

To dance in the rain.