nicoii - Hello Poetry

your daily meals consisted exclusively of the compassionate ones and the more they felt for you the tastier they were didn't mommy ever tell you not to play with your food?

0

Dec 8, 2016

Dec 8, 2016 at 7:27 PM UTC

nicoii

scrumptious

your daily meals consisted exclusively of the compassionate ones and the more they felt for you the tastier they were didn't mommy ever tell you not to play with your food?

4

an angel has white wings because they have not been tainted by the world's colors yet. they keep their chins held high, hand in hand in a long, unbreakable chain. red for lust orange for gossip yellow for arrogance green for jealousy blue for depression purple for rage black for hatred brown for gluttony pink for self-consciousness grey for hopelessness and angels one by one become doused and splattered with all colors that aren't white all different combinations some with just one others a rainbow until the chain collapses proving to be breakable and the ones still white grip tight to their friends and family shaken and mortified "protect the angels with white wings" i say proudly as my wings drip with green and blue and pink and grey. the colors i struggle against the most. "we couldn't make it but maybe they can."

0

Dec 7, 2016

Dec 7, 2016 at 9:32 PM UTC

nicoii

an angel's wings

an angel has white wings because they have not been tainted by the world's colors yet. they keep their chins held high, hand in hand in a long, unbreakable chain. red for lust orange for gossip yellow for arrogance green for jealousy blue for depression purple for rage black for hatred brown for gluttony pink for self-consciousness grey for hopelessness and angels one by one become doused and splattered with all colors that aren't white all different combinations some with just one others a rainbow until the chain collapses proving to be breakable and the ones still white grip tight to their friends and family shaken and mortified "protect the angels with white wings" i say proudly as my wings drip with green and blue and pink and grey. the colors i struggle against the most. "we couldn't make it but maybe they can."

27

i want to hold your head in my arms. run my fingers through your head of soft ribbons i want to make you feel like you are everything when you feel like you are nothing breath slowly with me my dear trust that i have been through this enough before to know what to do this is just a moment and a moment in this life becomes worthless you wont love me like i love you thats the honest truth but let me cradle you in my arms and whisper sweet tenderness over and over so it echoes in your mind and bounces off the walls of your head so you never feel unwanted unloved again.

0

Dec 7, 2016

Dec 7, 2016 at 8:29 PM UTC

nicoii

just a moment

i want to hold your head in my arms. run my fingers through your head of soft ribbons i want to make you feel like you are everything when you feel like you are nothing breath slowly with me my dear trust that i have been through this enough before to know what to do this is just a moment and a moment in this life becomes worthless you wont love me like i love you thats the honest truth but let me cradle you in my arms and whisper sweet tenderness over and over so it echoes in your mind and bounces off the walls of your head so you never feel unwanted unloved again.

18

life has always been a tough thing to understand. to grip onto. the tighter your grip was, the stronger you valued your life. but what if your grip became weak? what if, no matter how hard you tried to grip the bars of life, your fingers continued to slip? sometimes, you have no control over how tight your grip is. i always was considered physically and mentally weak. not only would my grip become frail, but even on those days where my grip was strong enough to get my head above the bars, my tears would fall without thinking, and the bars of life became toxic and wet and my fingers would slip and i would fall. sometimes it's better with nothing to grip onto.

0

Dec 7, 2016

Dec 7, 2016 at 1:16 PM UTC

nicoii

the bars of life

life has always been a tough thing to understand. to grip onto. the tighter your grip was, the stronger you valued your life. but what if your grip became weak? what if, no matter how hard you tried to grip the bars of life, your fingers continued to slip? sometimes, you have no control over how tight your grip is. i always was considered physically and mentally weak. not only would my grip become frail, but even on those days where my grip was strong enough to get my head above the bars, my tears would fall without thinking, and the bars of life became toxic and wet and my fingers would slip and i would fall. sometimes it's better with nothing to grip onto.

13

dense, warm air and sticky grins were prominent during those sunny summer days tripping over our friends and muffled laughter grass stained shorts and muddy fingernails wet, curly locks of dark hair and bare feet squishing against the grass kids are known to be careless a big bowl of fresh strawberries is placed onto the plaid blanket spread across the prickly grass blades and we shoved our hands in quickly to see who could get the huge strawberry in the middle first some blades of grass stuck right through the blanket and poked our legs hard enough to make it sting but it didnt phase us neither did our grimy hands as we devoured the delicious fruit. we were messy kids. the juice dripped down our arms, creating a translucent river of rosy red juice you licked yours up but i stared at mine, intrigued as the river followed my veins and settled in the crooks of my bent elbow i couldnt resist slurping it up eventually though strawberries were always my favorite several years later it isnt the same the red river dripping down my arm, following my veins and settling in my bent elbow didnt taste the same as the sweet strawberries of summertime. the gashes on my arm werent from an intense game of tag with a friend or from rolling around in the grass too roughly these gashes were more than just booboos mommy couldnt kiss these and make them all better mommy couldnt make them disappear i couldnt make them disappear i made them appear they are here to stay, and not some sticky juices from a summertime delight they were sticky juices from a wintertime despair. a twisted mind a long sleeved hoodie in 90 degree weather a sad excuse as to why it was a hoodie instead of a t shirt or a tank top a bit lip to hold back the tears a friend who tried their hardest, but couldnt notice and brushed it off a forever tainted mind whenever someone offers me strawberries i take them, even if i am filled to the brim or sick of strawberries altogether because maybe if i overdose on strawberries my mind will blur and all the memories of the thick, dark red river of wintertime despair will all become replaced with strawberry juice and i will wake up and it will have been nothing but a fever dream.

0

Dec 3, 2016

Dec 3, 2016 at 12:23 AM UTC

nicoii

strawberry juice

dense, warm air and sticky grins were prominent during those sunny summer days tripping over our friends and muffled laughter grass stained shorts and muddy fingernails wet, curly locks of dark hair and bare feet squishing against the grass kids are known to be careless a big bowl of fresh strawberries is placed onto the plaid blanket spread across the prickly grass blades and we shoved our hands in quickly to see who could get the huge strawberry in the middle first some blades of grass stuck right through the blanket and poked our legs hard enough to make it sting but it didnt phase us neither did our grimy hands as we devoured the delicious fruit. we were messy kids. the juice dripped down our arms, creating a translucent river of rosy red juice you licked yours up but i stared at mine, intrigued as the river followed my veins and settled in the crooks of my bent elbow i couldnt resist slurping it up eventually though strawberries were always my favorite several years later it isnt the same the red river dripping down my arm, following my veins and settling in my bent elbow didnt taste the same as the sweet strawberries of summertime. the gashes on my arm werent from an intense game of tag with a friend or from rolling around in the grass too roughly these gashes were more than just booboos mommy couldnt kiss these and make them all better mommy couldnt make them disappear i couldnt make them disappear i made them appear they are here to stay, and not some sticky juices from a summertime delight they were sticky juices from a wintertime despair. a twisted mind a long sleeved hoodie in 90 degree weather a sad excuse as to why it was a hoodie instead of a t shirt or a tank top a bit lip to hold back the tears a friend who tried their hardest, but couldnt notice and brushed it off a forever tainted mind whenever someone offers me strawberries i take them, even if i am filled to the brim or sick of strawberries altogether because maybe if i overdose on strawberries my mind will blur and all the memories of the thick, dark red river of wintertime despair will all become replaced with strawberry juice and i will wake up and it will have been nothing but a fever dream.

38