We are like a tattoo,
forever there changing.
We cover the Earth's beauty,
like a scar of the skin.
As time passes, we change.
We spread in all directions
slowly fading, sinking down,
down into the skin of the earth.
Contaminants!
We overlap,
lose our beauty in the concrete jungle.
We become ugly.
Loosen out grip on nature,
but we envy its eternal youth.
We want to go back to our original beauty.
We can't.
We grow old.
We continue to fade until we are a form with no beauty.
Till the earth is covered.
Humans are Earth's fading tattoo.
Aug 19, 2016
Aug 19, 2016 at 5:23 PM UTC
What a crazy thing!
It is almost infectious.
Pulling at my insides,
Throwing my emotions out of wack.
It could be used as a form of torture.
It weasels its way into my mind,
my heart,
my bones.
Muscles are stretched in unfamiliar directions.
A burning, a yearning for more.
It builds in the pit of my stomach.
It is infectious.
This place breeds the infection.
It grows like a mad mans craze.
There is no place to run,
no place to hide from the contagion.
It surrounds me leaving no escape.
I wait for the infection to spread,
to take over my body.
The endless happiness envelopes me.
All that remains is a diseased body
left behind by the infectious World of Disney
Aug 19, 2016
Aug 19, 2016 at 5:13 PM UTC
Am I going to wash away?
Pulled by a river and wash away?
Drenched by a dagger and wash away?
Poisoned by a snake and wash away?
Drained by a bullet and wash away?
Catch me as I wash away!
Fade into a dream and wash away?
Plummet into darkness and wash away?
Submit into weakness and wash away?
Collapse into betrayal and wash away?
Catch me as I wash away!
Succumb to fate and wash away?
Lead to failure and wash away?
Surrender to temptation and wash away?
Lie to shield and wash away?
Please, catch me as I wash away!
Am I going to wash away?
I did not ask to wash away.
But, now, I must wash away.
However my way, I'll wash away.
Do not catch me as I wash away!
Aug 19, 2016
Aug 19, 2016 at 5:04 PM UTC
We have always been under the boot of men,
Giving them support till the end.
Even if we are treated like rugs,
We smile and hide our emotions in hugs.
We were raised in a world of cultural bias,
Leaving men with the highest.
Our voice is soft to calm and please,
But men are the hardest to appease.
We act unsure and not too bold,
Though men are blunt and can be cold.
Women can work above the rest,
yet men are still considered the best.
A man with women on his arms,
It's a compliment and does not harm.
She, the one at his side,
A ***** a crook along for the ride.
Women can stand as tall as men,
But are always pushed down or made to bend.
This plight, this fight must end soon,
for it will bring our unfortunate doom.
This balance is unjust and unfair,
So women, lets make them care.
Aug 19, 2016
Aug 19, 2016 at 4:46 PM UTC
*Just when your world collapses
To the point of fall apart
There still resides a tiny spark
Deep within your hungry heart
The tiniest of slivers
A slight glimmer of hope
A righteous nod from the voice of God
Letting you know you're not alone*
Apr 27, 2016
Apr 27, 2016 at 3:31 AM UTC
dating a writer
is like guessing the weather.
you think you know what you'll get,
but you never do.
you never know
because
she'll create a hero
from your weaknesses
and she'll write a great character,
from every last flaw.
she'll create a thousand plots
from your worst nightmares.
she'll take every last thing you hate
and create something you'll love.
she'll turn your anger
into confessions of adoration,
and she'll make you,
everything you're not.
but worst of all,
she'll leave you wondering-
is it you she's in love with,
or things she's created from you?
but here's the beauty of it:
if you date a writer,
you'll never die.
Nov 17, 2015
Nov 17, 2015 at 2:52 AM UTC
in the beginning it was only hope and dust and fragments
of a grave never visited, never touched.
you talk with your hands, you leave your palms
resting on your chest.
i was never meant to be.
i was never meant to come alive.
and all you ever did to find me was die.
that was it. that was me lying in bed
deciphering messages.
i could not be convinced
of coincidence.
but i wanted to believe.
to have something.
i always knew, i always thought
i will not rest.
maybe i am still scared to rot.
scared that i will burn,
that when i get a good look at you,
that will be it. i will be done.
i will be silenced. i will become
your phantom. i am not the limb
you missed. i am not the wind.
i am faith and gut and circumstance.
that is all we are.
that is all it took for me to find you.
to love you.
but you,
you had to die.
Oct 6, 2015
Oct 6, 2015 at 4:18 AM UTC
Listen, it's a beautiful thing
when distilled to its essence;
reduced to its purest form.
A paradox and a paradigm;
a paragon of perfection.
Epic in its arythmetic
progression; poetic.
Like Chinese arithmetic,
so hard it hurts. Yet soft
and exquisite, like a bubble
of love caught in a beating heart.
That place where poetry starts.
Oct 6, 2015
Oct 6, 2015 at 4:17 AM UTC
Time ticks and ticks as the writer’s mind fails to click.
Paper blank white
And obsidian ink drips.
Ideas passes through the writer’s mind, but cannot seem to make it flow.
Where to start?
Where to go?
A hero girl ready to start a new adventure?
But later wakes and finds herself in the middle of an English literature lecture?
No, no. Too cliche.
Give her flaws and write in a difficult situation.
Like perhaps
And have her sail to her next destination!
…
Sorry, I got writers block… couldn’t finish the poem. Bye.
Aug 22, 2015
Aug 22, 2015 at 5:10 AM UTC
Have you ever watched your world just fall away. Not in the good way where you're focused so intently on something that brings you great joy or a goal that you have to struggle to reach, but the actual collapse of your sole existence.
The one perfect falling needle, point first, aimed to crash perfectly into the bubble we call life. The scramble to grab it, to stop it even at the cost of making ourselves bleed to prevent the collision. But failing.
Oh how bitter the implications that loud pop signifies. The spike in your heart rate as the pumping muscle drops into the pit of your stomach. How sweet those moments were when the world was just a heavy burden to bear.
Jun 5, 2015
Jun 5, 2015 at 5:20 AM UTC