BeautifulSoup
"The opposite of war isn't peace. It's creation." -Jonathan Larson, RENT / / "And when you're done with your poem, decipher it as if you'd just found it printed in a textbook and knew absolutely nothing about its author. The results can be amazing... and scary. But it's always cheaper than a therapist." - Jay Asher, Thirteen Reasons Why
Fists balled.
Throat dry.
Coming down from a high.
Crash and fall.
Spring nights.
Coming down from a high.
Apr 6, 2015
Apr 6, 2015 at 10:53 PM UTC
You have a silver tongue.
Your words are elegant and your delivery admirable.
Your words could part seas and light the sky.
They could make an army of disbelievers stand on their feet
And praise you, worship you.
You are that powerful.
But as silver as your tongue is it is just as sharp.
Your words brush against my skin and cause happiness
But in another moment despair.
They send knives through my skin and force an apology from me
As I clean up the blood.
Your words make me question how I could be so lucky
Yet so unlucky at the same time
Because in the right moment your words are a smooth melody
That wraps around me and makes me feel at home.
But in the next my ears drown in dissonance.
I cannot pretend that your words don't bruise me
But I also cannot leave
Because you have entranced me
With your silver tongue.
Jan 30, 2015
Jan 30, 2015 at 3:52 PM UTC
Yellow hearts.
Yellow hearts flickered in and out of her view.
She couldn't tell if they were actually there or if her mind was once again playing tricks on her.
As of late, they’d been doing that quite a bit.
She would see many things, yellow face, yellow shapes, yellow animals But most of the time they were figments of her imagination.
Sleep.
She hadn’t gotten much sleep lately.
She'd lay in bed night after night, unable to sleep, her mind a frenzied Mess she was unable to file away in organized boxes.
Consumed.
Her mind was consumed with thoughts of the peace she thirsted for And the man her soul, which hardly resembled that of a living being, pined for.
But for now all the peace she got was from her imaginary yellow Shapes.
And as small black boarder began to form around them she paid them No mind.
It would take time for the cold black to seep in and delude her beautiful Yellow.
And so, until then, she would continue to find solace in these yellow Shapes.
Yellow dots.
Yellow boxes.
Yellow stars.
Yellow hearts.
Jan 26, 2015
Jan 26, 2015 at 11:03 PM UTC
My pencil broke two words in.
My autobiography remains unwritten.
Nov 3, 2014
Nov 3, 2014 at 11:03 PM UTC
I can see past your facade.
Looking into your eyes I see the real you, the person you long to be.
You yearn to release yourself of the label society as branded into your otherwise flawless skin but you cannot.
Or at least, you think you cannot.
And so you jump to end things.
You listen to death's sweet lullaby as it coos you to an endless sleep.
Nov 3, 2014
Nov 3, 2014 at 12:07 PM UTC
I hide beneath the moonlight.
I bury myself within the fabric of the sun's coffin
For fear of what I've become.
Failing limbs,
Rotting corpse,
Sunken in eyes
And a tattered heart.
You don't need to see me,
See what I've become
Without you,
Because of you.
I will take death's hand
And we will dance tonight
Under the moon's glow
And up to the heavens.
Nov 1, 2014
Nov 1, 2014 at 6:54 PM UTC
It's fall, the season of scheming.
And so in honor of this
Everyday that the leaves change their colors
I do the same.
Oct 16, 2014
Oct 16, 2014 at 3:01 PM UTC
I can't begin to fathom how to describe how this feels.
It feels good like a cup of coffee in the morning,
But it also feels like an afternoon crash.
It feels like a high so good
But also a withdrawal most painful.
It feels like everything
Yet nothing at the same time.
Oct 15, 2014
Oct 15, 2014 at 4:22 PM UTC
My horoscope told me that I should think creatively today. It told me that I should write and so here I am, attempting to write a poem.
Little does my horoscope know that my mind is unable to function.
"Write something clever! You will create something great!" My horoscope instructs me but unfortunately that task is easier said than done, but I try because I want to fit in. All the cool kids are doing it.
However, nothing but loud noises come out and the writing police come to get things under control.
My brain has been arrested for causing a public disturbance.
Writers block has taken over. It is a cell block in my mind where all of my creative ideas have been cuffed, thrown into a corner, and forced to *** with rusted metal bars offering no privacy.
It's humiliating.
As I sit in my little jail cell I think about what I've done and how I could never come back here again.
"Next time," my brain tells me, "Don't listen to your horoscope."
May 20, 2014
May 20, 2014 at 6:39 PM UTC