kiara-mcneil - Hello Poetry

I feel like I'm drowning in blood, Blood that is not my own, but is all too familiar. The bodies, the faces, the experiences, and the blood is all too familiar, and all too painful to fully absorb. What starts off as a puddle soon becomes an ocean that will either swallow me whole Or deliver me to deaths door. I feel like we are moving towards an inevitable, Devastating, ****** end, Where blood floods the street. But by then whose blood will it be? Those of my circle or theirs

0

Jul 21, 2016

Jul 21, 2016 at 4:04 PM UTC

3 hours before Dallas

I feel like I'm drowning in blood, Blood that is not my own, but is all too familiar. The bodies, the faces, the experiences, and the blood is all too familiar, and all too painful to fully absorb. What starts off as a puddle soon becomes an ocean that will either swallow me whole Or deliver me to deaths door. I feel like we are moving towards an inevitable, Devastating, ****** end, Where blood floods the street. But by then whose blood will it be? Those of my circle or theirs

9

Long ago. Possibly when I was eleven years old. I lit the first match. That light fueled the fire in my heart. Smeared my soul with darkness. I watched everything burn. Burn. Burn. Burn. Poetic pyro’s . That’s what we called our group. Watch the flames flicker as our art took its shape. My first kiss was stolen as I watched the flames flicker across his face. I watch. I grow. I learn. With every building. With every match. My soul curls. My soul darkens. I burn.

0

Apr 15, 2012

Apr 15, 2012 at 7:01 PM UTC

the flame.

Long ago. Possibly when I was eleven years old. I lit the first match. That light fueled the fire in my heart. Smeared my soul with darkness. I watched everything burn. Burn. Burn. Burn. Poetic pyro’s . That’s what we called our group. Watch the flames flicker as our art took its shape. My first kiss was stolen as I watched the flames flicker across his face. I watch. I grow. I learn. With every building. With every match. My soul curls. My soul darkens. I burn.

21

Empty is the heart, full is the mind, the present is in front, so don’t love behind. give me your hand. i’ll give you my time, waste my love and I will not lie. I will leave. Never to return Never to love again. Experience is the best teacher. You will, They will and that I have learned.

0

Apr 15, 2012

Apr 15, 2012 at 7:01 PM UTC

crave

Empty is the heart, full is the mind, the present is in front, so don’t love behind. give me your hand. i’ll give you my time, waste my love and I will not lie. I will leave. Never to return Never to love again. Experience is the best teacher. You will, They will and that I have learned.

10

Take the knife out my back. Take back the bullets from my mind. I can only heal if I pardon you from your love crimes.

0

Apr 15, 2012

Apr 15, 2012 at 6:59 PM UTC

lovecrimes

Take the knife out my back. Take back the bullets from my mind. I can only heal if I pardon you from your love crimes.

3

Somewhere between winter and fall, I realized I loved you. I had said the words countless times, like a mantra, or a great idea that couldn’t fail. But it did. When I realized it was love, I found myself laughing. I, the strong one, the one who wouldn’t break, was dying of the sick irony that I love you, and you didn’t love me. Between winter and spring, I got out of that rut. Of wanting you, Needing you. Missing you. I thawed out from winters cold indifference, and sprang to life in the spring, accepting that it was love, that I could love, that I did, and that the idea of love created that bond, an attachment of sorts if you think of it that way. Between winter and spring. I stopped needing you. Between now and eternity, I can never stop loving you. I can’t thank you enough for what you taught me. I always felt love made me weak, but it made me strong, I was able to pick myself off the ground. You helped mold me, you painted a piece of the woman that will be me. Between winter and spring, I thought I was going crazy, Now as I move to spring, and summer, the ideas and notions of love no longer scare me or make me feel weak. Between winter and spring, you made me strong.

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Apr 15, 2012

Apr 15, 2012 at 6:58 PM UTC

Between Winter and Spring

Somewhere between winter and fall, I realized I loved you. I had said the words countless times, like a mantra, or a great idea that couldn’t fail. But it did. When I realized it was love, I found myself laughing. I, the strong one, the one who wouldn’t break, was dying of the sick irony that I love you, and you didn’t love me. Between winter and spring, I got out of that rut. Of wanting you, Needing you. Missing you. I thawed out from winters cold indifference, and sprang to life in the spring, accepting that it was love, that I could love, that I did, and that the idea of love created that bond, an attachment of sorts if you think of it that way. Between winter and spring. I stopped needing you. Between now and eternity, I can never stop loving you. I can’t thank you enough for what you taught me. I always felt love made me weak, but it made me strong, I was able to pick myself off the ground. You helped mold me, you painted a piece of the woman that will be me. Between winter and spring, I thought I was going crazy, Now as I move to spring, and summer, the ideas and notions of love no longer scare me or make me feel weak. Between winter and spring, you made me strong.

38

How drunk are we? How much do we regret? If love is the answer. How much did we forget? If it’s magic, How much can we learn? If a magician never shows their secret, then who do we burn?

0

Apr 15, 2012

Apr 15, 2012 at 6:57 PM UTC

questions

How drunk are we? How much do we regret? If love is the answer. How much did we forget? If it’s magic, How much can we learn? If a magician never shows their secret, then who do we burn?

8

It always happens in the rain. The same phone call. Or the nervous shuffling of feet. The familiar look of sorrow and relief all masked behind traitorous eyes. The break up. I’m not quite sure if they all meet up and trade tips on how I handle break ups worse. I keep my cool, but it always rains when it occurs. The smooth petals of rain sprinkling down my face as I nod, trying to be congenial, knowing this time that being perfect simply wasn’t enough. So I kiss the rain drops, allowing them to be the false tears that help cleanse my soul. We can not be friends. I lie for the first time to each man. Saying that we can be friends, knowing my feelings run deep and far like the birth of the Nile. I befriend the rain until the stars take me home.

0

Apr 15, 2012

Apr 15, 2012 at 6:54 PM UTC

the rain

It always happens in the rain. The same phone call. Or the nervous shuffling of feet. The familiar look of sorrow and relief all masked behind traitorous eyes. The break up. I’m not quite sure if they all meet up and trade tips on how I handle break ups worse. I keep my cool, but it always rains when it occurs. The smooth petals of rain sprinkling down my face as I nod, trying to be congenial, knowing this time that being perfect simply wasn’t enough. So I kiss the rain drops, allowing them to be the false tears that help cleanse my soul. We can not be friends. I lie for the first time to each man. Saying that we can be friends, knowing my feelings run deep and far like the birth of the Nile. I befriend the rain until the stars take me home.

22

Anyone can share their body. But to bear ones soul to the eyes of another is the epitome of being naked. To expose your barriers, to open up to that person, knowing that at any moment they could change their mind. Looking past make up, skin tones, weight and self esteem, there lies an entity all in its own. Strong, but yet a piece is missing. A piece where you find you fit perfectly. If only they would allow you to cradle and nature their soul with the care of a mother to an infant. But then you spot it, a hint of distrust. There is no such thing as free lunch, or so they say. You cut down your barriers, Pushing past the walls you’ve built up, And past the trust issues. You lie there, open, vulnerable, Just as they and you understand their distrust. Distrust not for them but for the carelessness of man. To carry a soul is not like carrying a purse, or a knapsack. You swallow it. It becomes a part of you, and you apart of it. You find yourself becoming one with something bigger than yourself. And it’s terribly frightening, isn’t it? You can feel it can’t you? Two hearts, and yet one heart beat. Four lungs, and yet one breath. You can feel the blood gushing to your ears as you carry Around this burden if you think of it that way. But it’s a beautiful burden, one you nurture, you allow to grow, and yet it scares you as it grows. As you can’t find yourself as yourself. It becomes “we” and no longer “me” It becomes “Us” and no longer “I” The change in the air is palpable. It’s frightening, For both of you. You can count the heart beats of a lone cricket until you meet again, Until you kiss again. But the kiss is different, not entirely in its taste but in it’s dress. It’s like being kissed by a star. You’re not sure where you begin and it ends. You don’t want to, do you? Now there’s a permanent lazy smile plastered across your face. As if you’ve got a secret riddle that no one can solve. But you don’t. You’ve found it. THE IT. What scientists search for. The meaning to life resting in your heart and dancing just on the outskirts of your sanity. It’s funny. Soul mates always sounded like something Hollywood Would use to get you to purchase a ticket. Now your soulmate has brought you to purchase An Investment. An Investment in them and life. *When I typed in the title, the read squiggly line came up at the bottom, I realized soulmates isn't a word it's a concept. Possibly might change the title later.

0

Apr 15, 2012

Apr 15, 2012 at 6:53 PM UTC

soulmates

Anyone can share their body. But to bear ones soul to the eyes of another is the epitome of being naked. To expose your barriers, to open up to that person, knowing that at any moment they could change their mind. Looking past make up, skin tones, weight and self esteem, there lies an entity all in its own. Strong, but yet a piece is missing. A piece where you find you fit perfectly. If only they would allow you to cradle and nature their soul with the care of a mother to an infant. But then you spot it, a hint of distrust. There is no such thing as free lunch, or so they say. You cut down your barriers, Pushing past the walls you’ve built up, And past the trust issues. You lie there, open, vulnerable, Just as they and you understand their distrust. Distrust not for them but for the carelessness of man. To carry a soul is not like carrying a purse, or a knapsack. You swallow it. It becomes a part of you, and you apart of it. You find yourself becoming one with something bigger than yourself. And it’s terribly frightening, isn’t it? You can feel it can’t you? Two hearts, and yet one heart beat. Four lungs, and yet one breath. You can feel the blood gushing to your ears as you carry Around this burden if you think of it that way. But it’s a beautiful burden, one you nurture, you allow to grow, and yet it scares you as it grows. As you can’t find yourself as yourself. It becomes “we” and no longer “me” It becomes “Us” and no longer “I” The change in the air is palpable. It’s frightening, For both of you. You can count the heart beats of a lone cricket until you meet again, Until you kiss again. But the kiss is different, not entirely in its taste but in it’s dress. It’s like being kissed by a star. You’re not sure where you begin and it ends. You don’t want to, do you? Now there’s a permanent lazy smile plastered across your face. As if you’ve got a secret riddle that no one can solve. But you don’t. You’ve found it. THE IT. What scientists search for. The meaning to life resting in your heart and dancing just on the outskirts of your sanity. It’s funny. Soul mates always sounded like something Hollywood Would use to get you to purchase a ticket. Now your soulmate has brought you to purchase An Investment. An Investment in them and life. *When I typed in the title, the read squiggly line came up at the bottom, I realized soulmates isn't a word it's a concept. Possibly might change the title later.

61

Flushed red from the anger of the situation. The blade pressed into your neck, shaking with anticipation. Should I cut your lips, or just go straight for castration. Don’t beg, sadly there can be no negotiation. I can’t feel it, but I can see it. The knife in my back, Words form perfectly in my mind, but my mouth hangs slack. I can’t cry, yes I have tried. I should probably cut this short, all because you lied.

0

Apr 15, 2012

Apr 15, 2012 at 6:51 PM UTC

all that's left is anger.

Flushed red from the anger of the situation. The blade pressed into your neck, shaking with anticipation. Should I cut your lips, or just go straight for castration. Don’t beg, sadly there can be no negotiation. I can’t feel it, but I can see it. The knife in my back, Words form perfectly in my mind, but my mouth hangs slack. I can’t cry, yes I have tried. I should probably cut this short, all because you lied.

15

One day your little boy is going to grow up and your little girl won’t just be playing in mommy’s make up. The childish glow will fade. Maturity will sink in with age. And on that day as we’ve all been told, gracefully we will have all grown old.

0

Apr 15, 2012

Apr 15, 2012 at 6:50 PM UTC

wisdom.

One day your little boy is going to grow up and your little girl won’t just be playing in mommy’s make up. The childish glow will fade. Maturity will sink in with age. And on that day as we’ve all been told, gracefully we will have all grown old.

6