I sit in a world created by a small handful of seeds.
Halls of stems rooted to the ground.
Sturdy columns of green supporting a thousand suns.
Soft beams of light seep through the gaps in the walls,
striving to break through into my castle.
I lay on the comforting soil,
staring up at the ceiling of clouds.
Longing to reach out and flow my fingers through their soft puffs of white.
I think to myself, this is a moment I will remember.
Now the garden is just a small yard of grass,
and the columns have died.
The suns no longer bloom,
and my castle is gone.
The sunflower walls that built my childhood
are left in the beginning chapters of my life,
closed away in a photo album
stored somewhere on a dusty shelf.
Apr 26, 2013
Apr 26, 2013 at 11:59 PM UTC
The first gave you life,
and the second taught you how to live it.
How to breath in a world full of foul air,
and rotten society.
The first gave you a need for love,
and the second was there to give it.
The love one needs when they fall and scrape their knee.
The kiss goodnight that every child deserves,
to know its ok to sleep
because tomorrow is a new day.
One became your guiding star;
the other became your sun.
The one your world revolves around.
With the perfect amount of force,
to keep you spinning but
know you always have a place to land.
One was there for a short time;
the other is here for the long run.
Here to help you grow and succeed in life.
The life, you were lucky enough to obtain.
One gave you the seed of talent;
the other gave you an aim.
An aim to point your arrow
and shoot for the sky.
Not just the stars,
but the moon,
and the sun,
because she gave you opportunity.
One gave you a nationality;
the other gave you a name.
A name to be known, to be remembered.
A name you can call your own.
So when you hear it said in a society full of people
you can say, “I’m here, this is me.”
One gave you emotions;
the other calmed your fears.
One saw your first sweet smile;
the other dried your tears.
The fear of not fitting in.
The tears you cried when someone called you different.
But the truth is,
even though you are different,
you are just as good as anyone else.
Their parents might have decided,
or they might have been surprised.
But your parents.
Your parents chose you.
The first might have disowned you,
and yes, that will live along side you
for the rest of your life.
But you are the lucky one.
The one with a story to tell.
Others started life with a blank page,
but you already had chapters.
Beauty isn’t just a pretty face,
or a small waist.
Beauty is life,
and you are fortunate to live it.
Yes you are different.
But you’re not just different.
You are a different kind of beautiful.
Mar 28, 2013
Mar 28, 2013 at 8:27 AM UTC
A simple question,
four words, why do I write?
I write for me,
to escape from the world.
I write to express myself
in a way I wouldn’t be able to with my voice.
I write for others,
to entertain them,
put a smile on their face,
or to let them know they aren't alone.
I write to forget.
I write to remember.
I write because I know the paper won’t judge me.
The pen will never disagree with me, even if I am wrong.
I write because there are no boundaries, no expectations.
I have the ability to create anything with just words on a paper.
I write to save my imagination, to expand it.
I write to better understand my surroundings,
to see the world in different ways.
I write to hate.
I write to love.
To cry.
To smile.
I write to communicate,
if no one will listen.
I write for various reasons.
But most of all,
I write because in second grade
my teacher told me I could be an amazing writer.
Mar 14, 2013
Mar 14, 2013 at 10:10 AM UTC
He sits alone in an empty building full of people.
Expressionless, like he has no other place to be,
but wishes he was anywhere else.
He sits alone on the park bench looking out over the pond
As if his mind isn’t where his body is.
Dreaming about the past during the day.
He sits alone is his cold, lonely living room in an old rocking chair,
warming himself by the stove.
Watching the fire burn away his memories.
He sits alone dressed in black in an open field.
His eyes focused, blocking out the sound of sadness.
Left alone with her grave stone.
He sits alone.
Mar 14, 2013
Mar 14, 2013 at 10:07 AM UTC
She doesn’t feel at home in her own home
because she’s not home grown.
Artificial
as a plastic flower that you buy in a store,
instead of taking the time to plant it your self.
She conceals herself in a white room,
with depression and a razor.
Because the somatic pain
ceases the pain her mind endures.
A need to bleed,
just to know she’s alive.
Mar 14, 2013
Mar 14, 2013 at 10:07 AM UTC
Temptation is being tempted to spend your last dollar
on a package of M&M;’s in the vending machine in the teachers lounge.
Temptation is being tempted to go through the McDonald’s drive through
even when you know the consequences.
Temptation is when you are tempted to take one of the free cookies at Hannaford
even though you are over the age of 12.
Temptation is everywhere,
everyday.
Sometimes it’s simple,
sometimes it’s more complex.
Temptation is being tempted every time you see your crush in the hall,
to get a burst of confidence and just walk up and kiss them.
It’s being tempted to ride the Zipper at the fair for the first time
even thought you are afraid of heights.
It’s the “want” to see your presents that have been hidden in the closet
even though you are supposed to wait until Christmas morning.
It’s the “need” to buy those jeans that fit you perfectly
even though they cost more than your phone bill.
You can’t ignore it, though sometimes you can control it
but only if you want to.
Feb 14, 2013
Feb 14, 2013 at 9:49 AM UTC
Your scent still lingers on its fabric
Sometimes I wish I didn’t have it
Memories form a lump in my throat
My heart starts racing like an eighth note
Makes my insides float
as I reach for a life boat
to pull me to shore, to reality
To let me know your gone
Wish I had something to lean on
But all I have is this sweatshirt
that fits me like a full skirt
but I don’t mind
it helps me rewind
and remember that you died for me
for mom, for dad, and for your country
This sweatshirt helps me cope
it gives me hope
That you are in a better place
somewhere in outer space
It makes me feel close to you
it helps me work through
the loss and sadness
the shame and madness
and I know I’ll see you soon
so have a good afternoon
and I’ll keep your sweatshirt with me
so you can reach me wherever I’ll be
Feb 13, 2013
Feb 13, 2013 at 9:59 PM UTC