Chiibe
Australia
" Ahh... Hello Chiibe, Care to enlighten us with this bio of yours? " / " Oh! Me? Sure! For some random reason I will! " / / THATS HOW THIS BIO CAME TO BE. / / Scared of many things. Slenderman, The dark, Heights, Spiders. / I love singing and gaming and writing and reading. / I am bootiful and crazy. / I am erratic. / I am really bad at handling jumpscares. / Please do not scare me or you'll soon be bleeding because my nails are sharp enough to cause someone to bleed.
The darkness in his eyes
A true reflection of his pain
Led away from the path of light
He truly had no gain
As he walked from his family
Never to return, he mourned
As he looked into his dying father's eyes
Pretended that he didn't see forgiveness
He's truly broken
Inside, just a shell
Just a mad dog without a leash
As he watched as his Father fell
His mask hides his youthful face
Hides it as if it's a mark of disgrace
His lightsaber is as unstable
As his emotions, running wild
Many joke, his heart is a fable
That he's merely a metal figure
Programmed for Snoke's doing
Nothing is secure
He cut off his path to the light
But there
Is still hope
Of redemption
Jan 25, 2016
Jan 25, 2016 at 4:24 PM UTC
**Every word she spat at me in anger,
became another scar on my skin,
but she didn't care for she could leave
when the blood flow became overwhelming
leaving just me and my undersized bandages**
Jan 25, 2016
Jan 25, 2016 at 4:05 PM UTC
I caught you,
In a glance.
Between chapters,
Between words.
I read you,
But couldn't really read you.
I found you,
But couldn't really see you.
You came just in time,
To save his life,
For the protagonist,
Had found defeat.
The author's charm,
To destroy it all,
So that you would,
Build it up again.
And now the narrative,
Had found it's muse.
The pages wrote themselves.
The Writer had nothing to do,
But watch it all unfold.
The happy ever after,
Was pages away.
All thanks to you,
The girl in the storybook,
Who made his world complete.
Jan 25, 2016
Jan 25, 2016 at 4:04 PM UTC
And then
In a single moment
You were the oxygen I breathe
I found it hard to believe
That I might die without your touch
Just your presence and your scent
Was more than enough
But a tiny drop of your love
Could never be too much
Jan 25, 2016
Jan 25, 2016 at 4:04 PM UTC
I want to scream and yell
at you, Reader
"Why do you see the longer ones
and skip over them?"
These are the words I wrote
with my heart and soul
for you to read.
"Why do so many get a reading
when they are shorter than them above?"
These are words I quickly found
that do have meaning
but only in those seconds.
I wish you would become a reader
of longer, lingering thoughts.
Then you'll see into my soul
in different ways than I understand.
But truth be told,
I should yell at myself
for doing the same to you.
Jan 25, 2016
Jan 25, 2016 at 4:03 PM UTC
Try me!
Nothing you do will ever make me quit,
Just as nothing I do will ever stop you.
So come at me and have at me!
I have grown tired of your rights,
as you are weary of mine!
I have been silent for far too long,
and you have been preaching more than enough!
Now get down here, and face me!
Leave your crown behind,
We will fight blind,
and let me show you true bravery!
Or we can go to war, my friend,
your hounds, and my army!
Let us paint this world crimson red,
as we charge into this endless battle!
Give me that iron bludgeon,
and I will return with a concrete fist!
Feed me walls of smoke,
and I will send you floors of fire!
Do me your worst,
and shall you see the worse from me.
Stop me in my walk,
and I will paralyze you in your wake.
And when your guts are finally there to get you,
come find me, and **** me!
Throw me down off a cliff, and
send them a distress call!
For I was not killed by the fall,
and as long as you live,
Know that the only way I'll die,
is standing true, and standing tall!
Jan 25, 2016
Jan 25, 2016 at 4:02 PM UTC
My house is not new, but not particularly old
But it feels as though lifetimes are weaven through its folds
Memories, so simple we forget
It stores them all, like a safety net
I remember when we had party
One of my relatives, couldn't find her car keys
I remember when the moon was blood red
I was outside, looking until I was forced to bed
I remember when I laughed so hard I cried
My sides hurt so much, but I just sighed
All these memories, the house never lets them go
Simple, small but wonderful
My house, my home, my memories.
And they never go.
Jan 25, 2016
Jan 25, 2016 at 4:00 PM UTC
It's hard to write a poem
When there's nothing going on
It's hard to think of what to say
When you've given most of it away
As poets we never scratch the surface
We delve within, disclose our deepest sin
We crave our pain, declare it's for our art
Yet more often than not have no idea where to start
But start we do and start we must
A deep desire in all of us
To spill out on the written page
What little bit we have tried to save
Ink now is the poets blood
Fragments of self pour from within
Silence is our safety net
To stop us from bleeding out
Although it's hard to write a poem
With nothing going on
We still find words to form a verse
From deep within our marrow bone
Work © Mike Hauser & © Sia Jane
Nov 4, 2015
Nov 4, 2015 at 3:10 AM UTC
i think it's hard to be friends or lovers with a writer. here's why:
1) you have to be careful of what you say, because the writers mostly take every word of yours literally and try to find the meaning in it. say what you mean, and mean what you say.
2) you also have to be wary of your grammar. those people, whom you know as writers, are grammar nazis. if they don't correct you in speech, fret not; it has been done in their word-mazed minds.
3) they will rant and rant and rant, because written words are what cool them off without having them to speak aloud. curse words, words which carry a tune, words which burn into brains... hear them out. do not be lazy to read their rants if they trust you with it. (they could rant about you TO YOU in the end.)
4) this is the hardest part. just remember that they will write about you no matter who you are or what you've done (or maybe you haven't even done anything). these people will write about how they see you. and most of the time, those writings are not so favorable. if you do not want to (literally) end up in their bad books, beware. their words may not last in ink forever but embedded into the hearts of those who read them.
happy reading and living with a reader!
Nov 4, 2015
Nov 4, 2015 at 3:08 AM UTC
Some girls like me are full of heartache and poetry and those are the kind of girls who try to save wolves instead of running away from them
Nov 4, 2015
Nov 4, 2015 at 3:05 AM UTC