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leslii-carling
American I am a sixteen year old girl who loves to write. I write poems and short stories and I am egar to share them with the world. My writing is my life, and I will never stop at this rate.
I will let myself cry. I will let myself sigh. Sorrow will overcome me. And my sobs will shake me. I need this now and then, I just wish I could predict when. My doubts and worries creep and creep And then I sob until I sleep. My mother wonders what’s gone wrong. My lover holds me and sings a song. People try to soothe my doubt But I just need to cry it out. It might be hormones, or it could be the heat. All I know is that the cycle will repeat. In a month or two I’ll be crying once more, Shaking and sobbing in a way I deplore. But the morning’ll come and I’ll crack a smile, And I’ll be back to normal for a little while. And then something’ll happen and I’ll feel my eyes sting, And I’ll turn my face down and curse everything. I’ll hate the world for a night or two And I’ll hiccup and sob and feel so blue. I’ll try to feel good in my own skin, And I’ll try to keep out of the loony bin. And then once again, I’ll feel just fine. For a long while my eyes will shine. I’ll be happy and confident and I’ll love you all But in a few months, I’ll have to fall. Even now my cheeks are wet, And I’m writing things I might regret. But tomorrow morning I will wake up And, still tired, I’ll fill my teacup. I’ll act as though nothing has changed Though the night before I acted deranged. I’ll clean my tearstained pillow case And I’ll rejoin the human race. Until it happens one more time. And then I’ll write a nursery rhyme as my sorrow overcomes me and my sobs relentlessly shake me.
0
Jun 29, 2011
Jun 29, 2011 at 1:33 AM UTC
Crying it Out
I will let myself cry. I will let myself sigh. Sorrow will overcome me. And my sobs will shake me. I need this now and then, I just wish I could predict when. My doubts and worries creep and creep And then I sob until I sleep. My mother wonders what’s gone wrong. My lover holds me and sings a song. People try to soothe my doubt But I just need to cry it out. It might be hormones, or it could be the heat. All I know is that the cycle will repeat. In a month or two I’ll be crying once more, Shaking and sobbing in a way I deplore. But the morning’ll come and I’ll crack a smile, And I’ll be back to normal for a little while. And then something’ll happen and I’ll feel my eyes sting, And I’ll turn my face down and curse everything. I’ll hate the world for a night or two And I’ll hiccup and sob and feel so blue. I’ll try to feel good in my own skin, And I’ll try to keep out of the loony bin. And then once again, I’ll feel just fine. For a long while my eyes will shine. I’ll be happy and confident and I’ll love you all But in a few months, I’ll have to fall. Even now my cheeks are wet, And I’m writing things I might regret. But tomorrow morning I will wake up And, still tired, I’ll fill my teacup. I’ll act as though nothing has changed Though the night before I acted deranged. I’ll clean my tearstained pillow case And I’ll rejoin the human race. Until it happens one more time. And then I’ll write a nursery rhyme as my sorrow overcomes me and my sobs relentlessly shake me.
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40
I want to hold you and kiss you And never let you go. I want to keep you, and protect you, Just so you know. I want to make you shiver And fall apart in my hands. I want to soothe you when you quiver And show you great lands. I want to fall asleep with you in my arms And I want to kiss you awake. I want to make you fall for my charms, Even though I’ll burn the pancakes. I want to wrap you up in great black wings, And kiss every inch of your skin. I want to show you the beauty in things And have you meet all of my kin. I want to come home and see you beam, When all I want to do is cry. I want to close my eyes and see you in my dream, And I never, ever want to say goodbye. I want to get on one knee And give you a golden ring. I want to make you feel free And I want to hear you sing. I’m so, so in love with you, I wish I could say it more. Tell me what I can do, Don’t let me be a bore. I give you my sword and my heart, I give you my armor and wings. You are a work of art To be desired by kings. In the end though, you’re mine Just as I am yours. With you I align, And for you, I’ll fight wars.
0
Apr 14, 2011
Apr 14, 2011 at 9:41 PM UTC
Things I Wanna Do To You
Poems about roads, poems about ravens, Poems about monsters, and poems about roses. What do they mean? The road is a life, the raven a regret, the monster is you and the rose is- What. What happened to this? Why can't it just be a rose? A flower with thorns and red petals? “But the thorns are hardship and-” No. Don't pretend you understand. Don't give meaning to the meaningless. Let the words speak on their own. Interpret, sure, but don't over-analyze. Let the words come and flow unbroken by the lines of a chart, splitting stanzas and lines into more manageable chunks. Poetry is an art not meant for a spreadsheet. Words flow from the heart and the soul, from the subconscious where meaning is meaningless. Where poetry remains whole. I scratch my pen across the page like a pen scratching across a page, writing a poem about poetry, Really. I write cloud and it means cloud, I scrawl raven and I mean the bird, I tap out road, and it refers to the pavement and when I say rose, I mean rose. Beauty is not always in complexity, sometimes it rests in simplicity. Simplicity of thought and of interpretation. When my heart is aching and I want to cry, how else can that be said? When I make it an enigma: crystal drops from earthen orbs when I say what I want: I buried my face in my hands and sobbed. Both equally beautiful, both equally poetic one clearly understood by anyone reading. Poetry is my art, and I would hate to see it picked apart like a frog in a biology class. Each stanza cut apart word by word and phrase by phrase to find any hidden meanings therein. I've hidden nothing. But don't over-analyze that statement.
0
Feb 15, 2011
Feb 15, 2011 at 8:58 AM UTC
Easily Over-Analyzed
Poems about roads, poems about ravens, Poems about monsters, and poems about roses. What do they mean? The road is a life, the raven a regret, the monster is you and the rose is- What. What happened to this? Why can't it just be a rose? A flower with thorns and red petals? “But the thorns are hardship and-” No. Don't pretend you understand. Don't give meaning to the meaningless. Let the words speak on their own. Interpret, sure, but don't over-analyze. Let the words come and flow unbroken by the lines of a chart, splitting stanzas and lines into more manageable chunks. Poetry is an art not meant for a spreadsheet. Words flow from the heart and the soul, from the subconscious where meaning is meaningless. Where poetry remains whole. I scratch my pen across the page like a pen scratching across a page, writing a poem about poetry, Really. I write cloud and it means cloud, I scrawl raven and I mean the bird, I tap out road, and it refers to the pavement and when I say rose, I mean rose. Beauty is not always in complexity, sometimes it rests in simplicity. Simplicity of thought and of interpretation. When my heart is aching and I want to cry, how else can that be said? When I make it an enigma: crystal drops from earthen orbs when I say what I want: I buried my face in my hands and sobbed. Both equally beautiful, both equally poetic one clearly understood by anyone reading. Poetry is my art, and I would hate to see it picked apart like a frog in a biology class. Each stanza cut apart word by word and phrase by phrase to find any hidden meanings therein. I've hidden nothing. But don't over-analyze that statement.
Continue reading...
56
Jaws cracking eyes watering inhaling so deep heavy eyelids and a drooping head don't fall asleep sleep is fickle, get it where you can and if you don't have insomnia BE GLAD. There are few things worse than lying awake, clock blinking, glowing in your eyes. Your watch beeps, a bell chimes 3:00 in the morning again. You're so awake you wanna go out but you can't. It's too late. early? dark. The cracks in your ceiling are so fascinating. The cat at your side is warm. purring. orange. It should be soothing should put you to sleep. But it won't. Never does. How long can you go without sleep before you go mad as a hatter? Down, down, down the rabbit hole of dreams... snapped away from the brink. Damnable sirens! Damnable insomnia... Sun's rising. What now? Get up. Get dressed. You've a life to live. Foundation covers the circles under your eyes. Tea or coffee keeps you running. Insomnia keeps you awake. Always has. Always will.
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Jan 23, 2011
Jan 23, 2011 at 6:37 PM UTC
Insomnia
Standing here I feel no fear Head held high A spark in my eye The darkness comes Choking my lungs Eyes grow dimmer The sun looses its glimmer The ground crumbles away And yet, here I stay Standing so tall During the fall Of the world and the people As the sky crushes the steeple The moon and the sun Go and have fun The sky falls down Onto the town And the children flee But not me. I stand here, proud My voice so loud As I say to the sky “And now it’s just you and I. “I struggle to breathe, and I feel you seethe, “Because here I stand, with blood on my hand, “and I’m stronger than you for all that you do.” And then I died With only my pride. But that was enough Because I was tough
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Sep 9, 2010
Sep 9, 2010 at 1:32 PM UTC
Armageddon
The pain is so distant. Nothing more than a dull ache. I feel like I’m watching a movie, The picture too grainy to make out. I cant breathe. Each and every rasp is wet. I cant see. My vision blurs and distorts. I cant speak. Blood endlessly chokes my voice. I dont want to feel. I know there will only be pain. I block everything out And I retreat within myself. I think I fall to my knees. I’m not sure anymore. Am I dying? Am I finally going to die? Blissful silence. An endless abyss. No pain, no cruelty. No him, no her. No me. Close my eyes. Fade to black. Roll credits. Fin.
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Sep 9, 2010
Sep 9, 2010 at 12:13 PM UTC
So far gone...
In the middle of a crowd, The surrounding voices far too loud, I look up and try to see a cloud But I only face the Shadows I’m alone in my home Yet in the mirror, a clone Her skin as cold as a burial stone And she’s one of the Shadows Scarlet, sticky and warm Brought to the surface by a thorn, That leaves my skin ragged and torn. It flows and melds with the Shadows. I fight to stay alive Though I know I will not survive I’ll simply be one of the Hive… And all around me are the comforting Shadows. With that realization I die, And now in peace I can lie. Never again will I cry In the warm embrace of the Shadows
0
Sep 9, 2010
Sep 9, 2010 at 12:12 PM UTC
Shadoows
Russell, Taynon, Josh and Stephanie Thank you for willing to be seen with me Zack, Anthony, Lili and Max Thank you for accepting all of the facts Danica, Cody, Shayne and Steven Thank you for keeping the playing field even I know I’m forgetting so many names So many faces and so many claims So, to all of you who I call friend Here is the message I’m gonna send: You’ve all been there through thick and thin Better friends there have never been Stories, poems, rants and obsession You listen and aid my mental progression I could write this thing all day And still I know it would not say What you have all come to be And what you all mean to me And yeah I know, I’m awesome too My being here is an honor to you But my dear Ninja, Artist, and my Writer My prep, my worshipper and my oddball character You’re the ones with whom I rock out You’re the ones who won’t let me pout So, speaking quite seriously I hope you don’t ever leave me. SO! Please stand up and cheer All of my friends here Because if you don’t it will be quite queer…
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Sep 9, 2010
Sep 9, 2010 at 12:04 PM UTC
Friends of Sophmore Year
Crawling, creeping, through the dark, keeping an eye upon your mark Throwing knives rest on your hips blackened cloth against your lips. Against rooftops, your feet are silent your movements so graceful so poised, so violent. You stalk your prey from far above a sick and twisted sort of love. They turn their head and then they die and away you seem to fly. A smoke bomb thrown, a muffled boom. In the shadows, you'll always loom. Twist and turn against the air, walk on water without a care. A sense of honor, strong and deep, keeps you company you as you creep. And you move on to another, followed by shadows that you call brother. Morning comes and you go to school, and no one can deny that you're ******* cool. A pirate greets you, bright and gay, and so begins another day.
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Sep 9, 2010
Sep 9, 2010 at 11:56 AM UTC
A poem for a Ninja
It seems that through the years I have shed my fair share of tears And the blood coursing through my veins Have become far more like chains Life is long and filled with horrors Seen by only brave explorers And of course those who’s eyes Are open as they hear their cries Others curl up and ignore Everything forevermore The world is crumbling in front of me And now I know only I could see The way humanity fell apart Through my icy and numb heart I fought for years to save you all But alas! You did not hear my call No more heaven and no more hell I won’t remain and I will not dwell My death will be my own So you can see the seed you have sown The spawn of hatred to your fellow creature No longer will I be your preacher I will be silent till the end of days And when you’re gone I will bask in the rays Of the warm, warm sun and the cool, cool moon And now I will die all too soon The chains will fall away And leave me to play In a world destroyed In this great wide void And now I can smile At least for awhile Because soon I will die And then I can lie On the ground in peace And my body will release My soul to the stars And I will never have to see my scars My tears will dry And I will not cry For the deaths I have seen through the years I know I hold no fears I can be calm now And take my final bow
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Jun 12, 2010
Jun 12, 2010 at 9:24 AM UTC
A Chaotic Life Comes To an End