monica-belle-brand
American
Though I am young, I value all that comes from the written word. Starting my love of writing at an early age certainly helped, and I plan to not ever quit until the day of my definite death. My words will always stay with me. / I'm 16 years of age and I'm living in southern Illinois as a sophomore in high-school. Music and writing has been the center-point of my life for as long as I can remember. I'm also an animal lover and I'm a proud Atheist. / I can only hope that my poetry means something to somebody one day. / Also, feel free to add me on Facebook. (www.facebook.com/JustMonicaBrand)
The aerodynamic
spiraling of
cappuccino colors
and butterfly words,
churches divide
and coffee-shops
offer something
that equally
scolds impatient tongues.
Floodlights
liquidize in
the charcoal fog
and the girl in
the leather jacket
comes to life
beside the freeway.
Her shoes
are the ships
and her eyes
are the telescope,
but the streets become
the cement river
where the gasoline
creatures never stop.
This is where
they left her
to die,
this is where
they took
everything away.
She is nothing,
a mistake along
this highway,
but she was lucky
to be given
a name
that sounds good
on a tombstone.
Knowing this,
her pepper eyes
water and her body
collapses upon
brittle grass,
the Earth welcomes
her return.
Mar 28, 2012
Mar 28, 2012 at 12:47 AM UTC
What are we now?
Every sentence is a forced commitment
and every word forgets its place.
Your breath is held above ground
and I gasp from underwater.
A stare, a sloppy whisper,
I am ****** from my mistakes.
"Strained" is too pretty of a word
to describe this.
I don't want to listen
to what you believe is right,
so I'm wrong and I'm
willing to live with this,
even if it means losing you
in my own self-discovery.
Mar 26, 2012
Mar 26, 2012 at 4:55 PM UTC
Blue rings of smoke and
Stop.
Ending further
Stop.
Mechanical drones but
Stop.
Thought process abruptly
Stop.
Nothing has
Stop.
For my
Stop.
. . .
You may now begin.
The millions of
personal malfuctions
scrape and sing with a
hideous tune, but none
could be better to
soothe filthy thoughts.
They begin as tiny
blue rings of smoke and
are soon ****** in through
unsightly painted vents.
A waft of sickly sweet
confusion crosses the
outer borderline,
ending further along
private hallways.
An unnoticable
tinker of raspy tools
buzz with
mechanical drones, but
it becomes easier
with children's time
and deaf ears.
It satisfies every
thought process, abruptly
ending in tasteful rainbows
and inspirational copper print.
Nothing has
to make sense here,
and only I would know better.
This was strictly
for my
own entertainment.
End.
Mar 16, 2012
Mar 16, 2012 at 1:42 PM UTC
Blatant stabs of jitters
and caffeinated desperation
know just how and where to
push
us.
Is it a they, am I a we?
Statements and rambling
questions
push
forward in line but
they're out of order.
A speaker of hope
and frequent lover of
bold microphone stands,
the hopeless
push
for the stage.
Bombs and baby cradles
are not important
during this time, the
money-hungry take advantage
stretch the truth and
push
the innocent.
Helpless creatures are doomed
by their own kind,
but there are the few who
dare to
push
for something worth fighting for.
Mar 15, 2012
Mar 15, 2012 at 12:00 AM UTC
Oh poor nature’s lost my attention
the crickets bang against the wall
The weeds grow in through the pavement
and I don't care at all
Nothing seems to matter
I'll give the world my final leave
I got my bag thrown over my shoulder
and I brewed my cup of tea
Then I heard some bells a’jinglin’
and a voice not far behind
A clumsy street performer
that was everything else but mine
I see the rainbow in your glasses
and hear the whistle in your teeth
I feel the laughter from the window
through the shuffle of your feet
Oh, I know you darling
They don’t mean a thing to me
‘cause I see the rainbow in your glasses
and hear the whistle in your teeth
Feb 21, 2012
Feb 21, 2012 at 5:40 PM UTC
I know this is over-written,
a rerun of too many lines drawn
between yourself and what is
considered harsh reality.
Something is out to get you.
(how can you run from something that doesn't exist?)
Don't turn back, kid.
Can't you tell what is done?
It's tied between every set of eyes ,
but only becomes deadly when drawn from lips.
It resembles a softer mock
of tiny forget-me-knots,
but how long until they can catch fire?
It's different when tasted,
like specks of ash upon rough tongues.
Hide the breath of the innocent
and pretend it never was.
(you didn't hear this from me)
Jan 29, 2012
Jan 29, 2012 at 11:32 PM UTC
Remember to forget everything here.
Disregard these lines as something you've already been told before.
I don't expect this to make a difference, and it doesn't matter if it did.
You are not important.
It's not "one in a million".
You're officially "one of a million".
Does this bother you?
Every single thought you've ever had
has already been thought of before,
and every word has been previously spoken.
Of course there are the select few who choose to break away,
and very seldom do they make it.
Those who do end up making it are not special.
They're simply lucky.
Yes, this is pointless.
No, I'm not saying I'm any better than you.
In fact, most of the people who begin reading this
haven't even gotten to this very sentence.
Anyway, just remember this:
You are and I am.
(Who are you to say this makes sense?)
Now, you may forget.
Jan 29, 2012
Jan 29, 2012 at 11:16 PM UTC
It happened again.
It reappeared, as if from nowhere.
There used to be a time that (in some strange way) I would shrug and it would fall off my shoulders. It will not go away and you're not here to take it.
You've had it all along, so why didn't you tell me?
I need a reason to walk away and never speak of this again.
Now I can't (won't) save you. You looked me in the eyes as I had my back turned on you.
It's not that impossible to understand once you know how sorry I was (I lied). I can't do this (and neither can you) but yet I can't stop, or bring myself to face this. I smelled it on your skin and just knew this would be the last time I would have a hold on myself (reality).
But.. still, it happened again.
Jan 29, 2012
Jan 29, 2012 at 11:05 PM UTC
Rewind to every last second you never lived,
and to the forgotten hopes of sad cotton-mouthed stains.
I, for one, never forgave those who have done me wrong.
I guess it's a tragedy, but I never got your name.
A pretty little pink umbrella; you can't get to me now.
You just can't get to me.
Give a foot or a leg to dance, a time to waltz with nothing more than severed limbs.
The rabbit knows what I'm talking about, and he gave the gift of time to those who couldn't take the life of another.
I understand this clearly, please go away.
Leave me be.
The birds just won't stand my songs anymore.
Jan 29, 2012
Jan 29, 2012 at 10:59 PM UTC
How long ago did it burn? Did you feel it, or did it feel you?
It became papery and weightless, yet it could not be peeled back from which it came. It's been harder to make things easier, but I guess it's only supposed to be that way.
But didn't it die? Don't pretend you weren't there.
I watched you long ago in the privacy of someone else's mind, and from then on, it was set in stone.
I should stop, but I'm not sure how. I can't, we can't. We've been wrong from the very beginning. Shut your mouth and open your eyes, so you can see what I've been searching for this entire time. I'm sorry that I'm not and will not, no matter how this turns up. Believe me when I tell you I will always be, but will never be again.
Don't forget this risk and everything potentially lost from this.
You WILL be torn apart, and your heart will once again burn.
Jan 29, 2012
Jan 29, 2012 at 10:51 PM UTC