Once I heard something about
Love between a god and a goddess
And I don't think that would be
A story worth hearing.
No, could a god love a goddess,
Beautiful and eternal,
More than a mortal woman,
Wide-eyed and naive,
Awaiting so nervously
The rendezvous of this king's wishes?
No, a god would feel
Too many empty spaces to fill,
A constant comparison,
An eternity of discontent.
There is pleasure in the temporary,
Like how a rose so delicate
Will always mean love,
Like a cactus could never,
Even though love is more like
The prickly leaves that don't wilt
At the first drought,
But rather produce red flowered fruits.
No, a god would love the brown curled woman,
With the warm lips,
The hands that bake and wash clothes,
The legs that walk miles.
I sit here in the dark,
Thinking of you.
Your soft brown hair,
Your soft, dark eyes,
Those eyes still make me smile.
Those eyes make me want to love you more.
Yet you have moved on,
to a new one.
I weep at the thought,
But I know as your love fades,
Mine still grows for I love you.
Even though I lost your love,
Mine for you still grows.
When I was a child, I wondered if monsters really did exist.
I would check under my bed and in my closet,
not because I was scared, but because I was curious.
And when I was a child I learned that they do.
Monsters don't always appear as people would expect
They commonly hide in our cities, schools, and sometimes our families.
They scarey part though, they can hide in our hearts,
or even our subconscious thoughts.
I met my first monster while I was still a child.
And while most would think it appeared to me with a shaved head,
driving a truck with confederate flags,
and a swastika tattooed inside his lip
so racial slurs can roll unfiltered off it's tongue.
My monster was the mother of my best friend.
She stood looking down on me like a doctor looks at a forty year old fry cook.
And while I never did understand why the brown of my skin resembled filth in her eyes,
or how she could look at a child, with that look of disgust.
When I was a child, I could understand, that these monsters do exist.
She's so happy with the teeth dear
Now they're perfect, pearly white
And she's looking at the rest dear
'Cos she's heard of Mack the Knife
It's those crows feet round the eyes oh
Keep those boobies way out of sight
And those wondrous thunder thighs oh
They're going under Mackey's knife
She's been thinking of her friends babe
Dear old Lotte and sweet Lucy Brown
Oh how jealous they will be babe
Once old Mackey's been to town
She's withdrawing all her stash now
She'll be poor but look so right
Someone's taking all her cash now
And that someone's Mack the Knife
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.
My baby's cold and I don't know why
Tears greet me in the morning
I turn my thoughts to the auburn sky
Paying no heed to the storms warning
Hard to sit on a day like this
My baby's brown cheeks gleaming
Raven hair in a tangled mess
Still she's the one I'm needing
Her cold front chills me to the bone
A winter of a lover
In her forest deep but not alone
She'll thaw me out come summer
When April's warmth changes the scenery
My baby's mood will blossom
Like daffodil's in early spring
As birds serenade their loved ones
Till that cold chill wind blows back around
My baby's mood remembered
Black raven hair with a chocolate frown
As we bundle up for winter
"I can see the life in you."
"It sort of leaks out of places."
Charlotte raises an eyebrow.
Okay, how so?"
Paul clears his throat.
"So you know how people like to
associate love with red, the color?"
"I guess so."
"Well, you just, like, glow red."
"That's called blushing. People do that, you know,
when they're embarrassed."
"No, this is different. It's not on your face."
"Where am I red?"
Paul looks at Charlotte.
He sees her large nose and her pigeon feet
And her brown hair everywhere
And her crooked teeth.
He sees the sunset from the week before on the Oregon coast in her eyes
And the tomato garden her mother used to keep
And the spot of early melanoma he found on her back a year before.
He sees the sneakers with the hole in the toe
That she bought for him and he remembers her words
Red makes you run faster
And he remembers his words to her
So that I can catch you?
Because she's always moving towards something brighter
Than he can force himself to look at.
He sees the door to her townhouse three blocks from his apartment
From his own stoop
Because she took a can of paint to it,
While her landlord wasn't watching.
The empty can sits on his desk full of stubs of Ticonderogas.
Paul looks at Charlotte.
"Well, how am I red?"
"The longer I know you the redder you get."
Your first book into the amazing world
catapulted me into a mentality I'd never know
The Seam, the Capitol, the arena…
I grew into Katniss and developed survival instincts
I surely would not need
Peeta, Gale, Cinna, Katniss
when Katniss grieved, I weeped.
My life nearly ended
when I flipped the last page
I loved every chatacter.
I adored Lady, the goat, for crying out loud!
The movie was atonishing.
So now it is 2013.
Catching Fire has arrived.
November's here, forget the turkey
I don't want to see Charlie Brown specials
I want to see the Quarter Quell
And my hero rise against the Capitol again
from the Mockingjay dress to the water world
a spark to a rebellion
Finnick and Joanna
though I know the whole script
I'll anticipate every second
of the ticking arena
So Hunger Games, I do love thee.
My castigation was decided long before my backslide. And that is inexcusable, the righteous might declare "unfair". But I don't want any belligerent accusations against this 'unjust watchfulness' from above. Some entity must have understood that I didn't need guidance; I needed walls: some forcing to reach my destiny. Without my jailer, I'd have chosen one of three and let them lead me into a darkness that the pitiful call 'demons'. Claws and teeth? No, each monster was irreplaceable and I loved them. If possible, if they could comprehend a 'love', I vow they would have loved me. But the Warden took them: my punishment before my crime. Perhaps the disposal of these beasts seems considerate, but toss aside those foolish illusions because the burden has not lessened rather, it is unfamiliar. Omitting strength, for I lost my foundation, I stand in fear with this hole. The Three aren't returning; I'm left with loose bindings - the knots are the songs of my memories. Beautiful Terrors, do I need you? Let me tell you their stories.
I remember his voice calling for me. "Daisy! Flowers for you." It was our little game, and I'm sure he made girls jealous when he handed me a bouquet of roses.
My name was Petunia, but I hated that name, and I loved all that's yellow.
So when we were little he took my hand, and we went into a treefort, and he dubbed me Lady Daisy.
He was 7 and I was 4, and there began my adoration.
Then I was older and heartbroken, and I was calling him. "Waldon! It's hurting me."
He arrived so soon, I was still in hysteria - that of a 14 year old gone through breakup.
Then I cried harder because somehow my brother presented me with a tulip and declared, "It's an early present from the only boy who's going to love you more than I do."
17, and I understood fascination. And Willow (for though it's girly, I liked it more than Waldon, and he let it be) was entranced by a wild girl. She was a shockbomb - a warm sungirl that rocked stilettos and never littered nor waited past a minute.
He fell for her so hard from so high.
One day that girl kissed him straight on the lips, then jetted off to England.
Said he could follow her in spirit.
I couldn't hate her because she left his body, but it was hard to appreciate his body when the government took even that away, insisting he be laid beneath cold dirt. Then too many questions: "Why did you hold his hand for three days? Were you thinking of following? Petunia, why won't you buy flowers for the gravestone?" Then there were horrified eyes when I asked who Petunia was, because I had forgotten. Or, truthfully, there was no Petunia, only Daisy. And Daisy had Willow. The Flower and the Tree: that was supposed to be the story. So I refused to buy flowers, and without any sort of ceremony I stopped being 'Lady' and became 'Crazy Daisy', who talked to her demons. Now you see why I never wanted to part with Number One, because although he was a monster (you can't deny the terror of a body with no spirit), he knew me best.
Dear Warden, I've no suicide in me, and there's none left could lead me there, and it may be that I've grown taller, but I'm practically blind.
She was weak since I can remember. I'd say her vulnerability was pneumonia, which I can only presume led to my hatred of 'Petunia': two words incredibly similar when reason encounters a child.
And I liked her name "Maribel" because it sounded like a flower.
I mimicked my brother, but he was persistent that I must call her mother.
Again, this made no sense until 8, when I had a revelation that all this time I'd had no family. At least not in the heart of a girl, because Maribel wasn't a vibrancy to look up to., though she was my one relation.
There was just her in a bed. Sometimes a man visited but I never knew why Willow grew tense; all I saw was my mother acquire spots of brown. How I loved brown, because it seemed as though she was genuinely Mother, like all those other moms that the sun tans, or that could be given filthy hugs that left patches of dirt. In turn, I always welcomed that man, and he was a 'saviour'.
And Willow's father.
Death found both Willow and that man (I know, now, the difference) before I understood 'abuse', and try not to blame me because she never complained and I thought abuse meant people were unhappy, but I saw both of them smile. I laid her beside him, but with space inbetween: a ground for my casket. Because I'd gone slightly crazy and I was telling Number Two that if I awakened as a zombie, I'd need to be able to find his hand first.
That was nuts. But Warden, I don't fully understand. You stopped her bleeding, but I'm left with nothing. I hear their voices in my head, telling me I'm healthy, but I know I'm barely breathing.
I dealt Three tragedy. And in doing so, I guilted myself into worthlessness. Classic to the moral law is: it is not acceptable to introduce a roommate to a shady character. But I ignored the concept of shady - applauded my nonjudgmental attitude, because with my twisted past I would have also been a shadowy figure. With a sweet, sweet smile, I handed that bright girl over to a Peacock who promised to give her 'a good feeling.' And I ignored her tears, because he said he'd please her.
Maybe if I hadn't been loopy, the only way I could "be" with One, I might have noticed that me and he weren't the same, and I could have judged him like the others.
Annie, I'm sorry, please just shine once more.
Even if you're afraid of me and my wickedness, don't be sucked into the gloom, because I can't offer advice to resurface, when I think there's none.
Now, there's Zero for me to turn to, because that's what I am. I am empty. I suppose that's what happens when I trust a boy who leaves, yearn for one who's weak, and think I've the durability to rely on myself (but I've equaled a pitch black crater for a while now).
You're more clear now, Warden. I can understand why you've taken everything. Since nothing I had would give me my fairyland ending. But where's my reward? I need my gift first, because these feet don't know which direction to head, and it's more like I was holding onto rocks that cut me while they warmed me. My feet kick against the waves, but in this half-in half-out position I can't get a good momentum, so a hand now would be nice.
My stories, did they surprise? I hear all this chatter about monsters, but I think we've got them wrong. Monsters simply have a hold one you, and there's no release before you've no choice but to part. They are strong, and it's true that I saw nothing stronger than the Willow. Only my jailer saw my potential, and he directed me to Zero. He asked for recognition so that I knew my task was not optional and he raised my walls until I stood there, lonely - pushed into belief in myself. But now I am the strongest I know, and I am walking on wind, and from up here I cannot see a single barrier. But Warden, don't you ever leave because if those walls break for a second and I see my demons, I know I'll lose flight and beg them to come back. And that would be the end, because there's no chance Number Four.
Sunny afternoons, were my best memories
All of the beauty is locked there
Running through that green grass, the heat of sun creating freckles on my face
The brown straight hair, with the light highlights brushing down my shoulders
Messy, I didn't care
Laughs and joy, were my best friends
But as soon as they realized I'm stepping away from them, they stepped further
I didn't want to turn my back on them, but life did it to me
So, how can I stay so happy, If life isn't happy to me?
People say that with time things get healed, fixed, and better
Time wasn't a friend either, it never was
When I wished for it to go slower, it got against me
When I warned for it to go faster, it got against me
But now, as I'm calling it to go faster as it can be, it's ignoring me
Other best friends came along, but not who I expected
Pain, pain is my best friend
Tears, are my best friends
Silence, quietness and thoughts are my ghosts, who tend to appear more lately
As I smile, life speaks to me, it predicts and swears, it's not going to last
I believe, I trust, just like a little girl
Who's this fellow, who follows?
It's the dark hole in my soul, people call it pain
I tend to call it sand
When the wind blows, I wish someone would hold my arm
As tight, as I can feel
Feel something that I don't do always
But I can not see any hand, any fingers to match into mine
But sand, colliding on me
Entering into my spirit, changing it completely
Negation, depression, and rejection gulping me
To a world, I wish I never knew
Gray shades of seven clouds, Gloom shadow and a tree
Tree of love? Dull and dead, is it love?
It's only a twin to pain
I've sold my spirit to this world
My mind, my heart are gone
the real me, the one who I was is missed
I can't seem to find myself anymore
Where am I?
Will everything stay the same?
Is anything going to return my way?
Will my fellow, forever leave? Or is it a cursed gift god wanted me to live with, until my hour comes?
My throat run dry, I can't call for help