They said it's too late to die young,
I think you took that as an invitation to grow up, grow old.
What you like to imply is that the scares don't really hurt anymore,
because even though they kill me on the inside,
you live under the impression that your insides have already died.
The poetry in your veins tells you the first time you died was when your mom had better things to do that watch you live,
I think you believe death has engulfed your soul,
I want to tell you to breath that burst says you're alive.
If you can no longer feel your heart allow me to,
and remember if the only way to remember you're still here is to mark it down on you,
remember only live tissue can turn black and blue
And whoever thought it’d reach this point?
I am so empty.
I need someone to fill me up, this cavity in my chest.
Nothing I write makes sense,
Nothing I write is honest,
not even this,
why would it when I haven’t been able to feel
anything real in the past twelve months?
I used to be so emotional that I hated myself for it.
Feeling so much beauty for the world
that it felt like my chest would burst.
Having so much love to give that no one wanted to receive
that it felt like my heart would spill over.
And now nothing makes sense anymore.
I’ve stopped living in the grey areas of life,
I’ve been seeing things in black and white.
And everything I write or think is shit.
It’s not real, it’s not real and I
want to rip up this crappy poem
and scream my fucking head off until I can feel
something besides the crinkled edges of paper
on my palms.
I would rather be a little girl
with shards of glass living inside her
not being able to breathe without her ribs
feeling like they might shatter,
than be this zombie immune to pain
shuffling daily through life’s routines,
not caring for the homeless,
not caring for the senile,
not giving two fucks about the
that were killed or are starving in wherever-fucking-country
on the news last night.
I used to think apathy was the secret to life.
That it would be better to feel absolutely nothing
than have to live with the pain of feeling absolutely everything.
But I’d rather write something that nobody likes;
embarrassing cringe-worthy words full of promise that sound like
they were penned by an mentally unstable naive five year old,
than a viral masterpiece that sounds like it was written by
the next Sylvia Plath, devoid of meaning or feeling
besides writing for the sake of writing.
FUCK. FUCKING SHIT.
Where has it all gone?
They say that love is meaningless
They say that it is everything
They say it hurts
They say it heals
They say it like they know.
But what do they know about love, really?
Do they see it the way I do?
Do they recognize the pure innocence of the young;
And how they look at everything with wonder,
Like a tea-spoon
Do they feel the sinking feeling of your stomach hitting the bottom of the ground
Every single time I see your eyes?
And how it hurts to see them in my dreams.
Do they realize that I'm stronger than the average person
Because my heart is so big I must protect it;
From the control that you have over my life?
Do they understand that I am weak and will rely on you to give me hope
Because my smile will fade and only you can bring it back?
Do they see that I believe not in romance but in love;
And that there is just one person out there for all.
And I can tell from the moment we meet?
Do they hear the song I sing for someone to love the way I do;
Where your heart becomes filled with the hopes and desires
Not of me but everyone else?
Do they feel the call I make from deep within my soul
To wake one day and be half of a whole
And do so everyday until I'm old?
Do they contemplate the existence of life without love;
And come to the same conclusion,
That life without love is no life at all.
Do they wonder why I am a repellent
To all things that my body and mind pray for
Silently as I lie in the meadows of thought?
My whole life, everything I do;
It revolves around you,
And you keep changing,
You always have nice hands
You continuously move and shift through dimensions
While I stay here waiting for your vowel
Not changing at all except for the growing hole only you can fill.
I have not met you properly,
Each time it someone else who wears your mask
I long for the constellations of your skin
To brush the earth of mine
And make new starts and galaxies
That only we can wonder
I am waiting on a drum stool
That replays the pounding of my heart
Full with love and devotion
But no where to place it
For you have not arrived.
They say they understand love but they do not understand at all.
Love consumes you and controls your thoughts
Till you are absolutely nothing but love.
I am love,
with no one loving
To give my love a meaning.
Come and find me
Be my swan.
Take the challenges that face you in stride
Of the heart, or of the mind; any challenge can be overcome by your own divine light
Be confident, know you deserve it
To live true to your heart, to be earnest
You know what you need to do, and though it may feel cruel
The highest good for yourself
will do everyone good
Sometimes I feel
My lips as
And my heart
I can walk without limping.
My skin is pale like yours, hers is darker.
Working my ass off at two minimum wage jobs.
I may not have a Harvard education and i'm not
Seeking fame or a bunch of men drooling over me.
I want one man to love me and treat me right.
Am I asking for too much?
Hard not to have envy in my heart reading poems
From men wanting a woman who don't want them.
this poem is not about you, i promise.
it's not about the line of your
jaw, how it locks in place or how
my lips pressed against your
throat are the only keys that will
turn you over, it's not about that.
it's about the tick of my heart and how
it sped up to match the speed
of light when i first felt
a hand curled around mine and how
i first felt it sliding its way between
it happened to be your hand, but that's
not the point.
this poem is not about you, i promise.
it's about my fingertips that ache like
cold nights, wishing to feel the
heat of a vein pulsing underneath
it, (i just need to touch you again)
this isn't about you,
it's about me.
it's about how i fell apart at the sight of you and
you pieced me back together with your presence and
how i tore you down after i decided we were spent and
how i took out several loans to piece you back together and
still never had enough to compensate for the wounds i inflicted and
how i fall apart now at the sound of your name and
how i have no strength left to stand up and
keep going after you said it for the last time.
this poem is not about you, i promise.
you were just the ringing in my ears
and this is my sad attempt at trying
to tear you out.
You Spurred the News; Of course those Hawks will Feed!
Eager for your Tenders from Branches a-wait
Then re-build your Nest which Molests your Seed
Thus re-play this Circus to Exploit your Fate
Here be the Reason why your Living Heart spends
To be this Noble for your Record break
To mellow those Sounds and settle Dust depends
Hoping your Favoured Gestures dictate your Make
Like all which Stars and Muscles bound Beyond
Urge you like the Ox its Bearing Yoke cope
Though be like us Assume your Self a-bound
Such Fault as None our Own by our Measured Scope.
Just pursue your Craft allow such Peace flow
Perhaps by then your Conscience enters now.
first touch of
seasons have passed
as autumn falls
bare trees lose
red berries, once filling
a flow of movement
match the full heat
of her heart, that now
feeds from an empty
source, a potential well
cold, one once filled
with light inspiration
pain and grieving
her eyes glassy, tears
mirroring the blue
skies that light up
the city, snowflakes
start falling, disguising
the flurry of droplets
hitting her cheek
painting patterns that
take form and shape
on her body below
investing in herself
she let her heart
set free as a bird
because it has been
for so long
letting go, never felt
more fatal than a
golden bullet straight
through her heart.
Days after, the blood
spilled from inside her
leaving a stained mark
where she had sat
a free bird on
a park bench waiting
but she never came
she never came
and this girl will never
be the same after
her love for her unknown.
© Sia Jane
[D]etachment means letting go and nonattachment means simply letting be. (95)
That Stars must shine by Effect; Not by Pursuit
Thus Permit your Form a Finer Model make
That your Mind clips your Heart thus Admit the Fruit
Which Tangy Bites nip Worth its Pips forsake
So resumes Life your Hall-Marked Sport provide
When Bitter Chains left your Heart in a Spittle
Then HE came; As Form your Saviour confide
Broke your Tendons Strong its Harsh Links brittle
Then to the Lone Star your Exercise improve
Where Fresh yet Muscled Minds break Influence
That by HER - a-wait as Friendship approve
Hugged and Kissed your Limbs with a Difference.
Your Dove still Flies; By her Hands she set Free
As your Suitor smiles as Far the Rest can See.