I put on my black lace dress
because I am going out tonight
to enjoy the nightlife.
Lingering on the stairs
I ponder the night's
future possibilities.
My stomach starts churning
never experienced this feeling,
whether it be anticipation or reluctance.
The stairs seem so steep
as I climb the tallest
industrial mountain.
Bare feet are clammy
against the chilled tiles
of the terrain.
The breeze catches in
my lungs and I choke
on the sudden inhalation.
Stars are so much more
brighter from this height,
many different colors.
On the edge,
I'm ready to spread
my wings and soar.
My feet leave the sturdy surface
for the sanctity
of the skies.
Spreading my wings
needing the air
to cradle me.
Realization hits me
like the concrete,
these plucked wings can't help me.
Mar 26, 2018
Mar 26, 2018 at 12:15 AM UTC
each fold i forget
my troubles.
each crease satisfies
my obsessive tendencies.
every perfect creation
pushes me to make more.
they pile on my desk
and float down.
graceful little birds
hit the ground.
little sailboats sink
to the bottom of the sea.
overflowing desk
spilling into a mess.
cannot stop beautiful perfection
as my hands move beyond comprehension.
Mar 4, 2018
Mar 4, 2018 at 8:28 PM UTC
all the pills I took
make my thoughts blur,
mind is fuzzy.
i can barely stand,
the world is like
a rocking ship.
swaying back and forth
as the sea tosses me
between the waves.
is my head still between my shoulders?
patting where it should be
all I feel is air.
where has my mind gone?
to the clouds
far from ground.
i lost it
i don’t know
where I could be.
Feb 22, 2018
Feb 22, 2018 at 4:56 PM UTC
spread your wings across the sea
feathers glistening in the spray
leaving trails of rainbow in your wake.
sunny skies and puffy clouds
in among the big blue sky
reflect from the mirror of the sea.
storm along the horizon
creeping from behind
consuming the rainbow it will take.
rolling in and hiding the sun
plucking the feathers from the wings
falling into the sea where no one can see.
Feb 12, 2018
Feb 12, 2018 at 4:05 PM UTC
I wasn’t strong enough to go on
I guess you could say he finally won.
Everything reminds me of him
no matter what I do to forget.
Sometimes I see him, in the little smile
given to me by guys I meet every mile.
He lies in the dreams I have
leaving me startled and cold upon wake.
Sometimes I feel him, in every hug
that makes me want to run.
My skin is left with pin ******
as a present from these *****
Thank god I can’t remember his smell
or else it would put me through hell.
One thing I’m glad for is when the senses
begin to dull after years out of the hole.
Blaming myself, easy to do in this case
easy to blame such a waste of space.
My thoughts are skewed
by the foggy memories of the past.
“He has done no wrong” so they say
“if it was bad, why did you stay?”
Why? I still ask myself to this day
it felt wrong but I thought it was just me.
Sacrifice everything for your lover
as it was taught from one to another.
Yet don’t know what to do
when the one you love won’t care for you.
Jan 13, 2018
Jan 13, 2018 at 4:10 AM UTC
the things that are joined
to get closer to others
make no difference
in their eyes.
beauty lies in what nature shows
while they see the outward beauty
of those around them
and i cannot understand
i want to know more
after you peel back the skin
tear away the flesh
and find what is left.
Jan 13, 2018
Jan 13, 2018 at 4:09 AM UTC
a sound, a simple movement of the hands
to make sure that every morsel lands.
trash can opens yet again
over and over.
everything useless goes
to a place no one knows.
leftovers leave our palms,
heading away with the rest.
left to get cold and rot
to which we think not.
the satisfaction in the thought
that it is gone and in other hands.
toys that no longer speak
left to die in the wreak.
no longer wanted by those
who once called them family.
leftovers and toys thrown away
are left to find their own way.
those who discard
are have this to regard.
they too become the trash,
forgotten in the waste,
the filth created by others.
we all lay to rot
this we know a lot.
on our own
by those that said
they loved us.
Jan 13, 2018
Jan 13, 2018 at 4:08 AM UTC
secrets ready to burst
from chest
pour out of mouth
caked in dust
after many years of being
locked up.
flowing out into the rhythm
of the great falls
as the words spill over the rim
to an overfilled cup
unending stream
of pent up feeling.
finally, no longer can it be held
from within the deepest origins
inside the soul
breaks free upon the broken wings
so that many can hear
the cry for miles.
throat cords will snap
from words upon words
falling on closed ears
screams upon screams
unnoticed by hidden figures
recognized by familiar faces.
scream when drowning
scream when help is needed.
most rather would tie the noose
to stop the secrets and screams
from spilling out of the gaping
hole in the face.
help that is needed will be given
tie the rocks to the feet of the screamer
watch you drown in the ocean
tie the noose to the neck
watch you swing from the tree
help is what was needed.
Jan 13, 2018
Jan 13, 2018 at 4:06 AM UTC
All of the words I have ever said
have been said before.
The life I have led
has been done before.
Such an average life
that doesn’t deserve notice.
A paper doll cut out with a knife
aiming for precision but left with
jagged edges.
What started out as a little thing
in the womb.
A life to be born with wings
torn to shreds when first sunlight
touches the skin.
Typically cradled by a loving mother
left to fall to the ground
without a bother.
Welts and a scarred heart
on the little baby.
Once a paper doll thought to be cut evenly and equally
like the other paper dolls of its kind.
Instead of scissors, a knife given to unworthy figures
created a paper doll.
Modelling it in their own image
destined to carry on its lineage.
Jan 13, 2018
Jan 13, 2018 at 4:03 AM UTC
mirrors are windows to the soul
or
just windows for all to see.
it’s for the man with the binoculars
to see a peek of my pink fleshy skin
that never sees the light.
women to see
the face behind the paint,
laughing at the rare glimpse.
everyone to tell me what to wear,
they see a **** to have their way
or a ***** to shame into femininity.
mirrors are windows to the soul.
to all the dimples on my body
with the urge to remove it myself
the need for it to be free.
curly, frizzy hair
burned to a crisp with an iron
creating a new identity.
perfectly shaven legs
to invite the touch and sight
of everyone near me.
plastered face of makeup
caked with it to cover
all the imperfections.
mirror, mirror shows
the part of me
I don’t want to see.
a troll curled up in a corner
under the dark rainy cloud
as the woman with the painted face
goes out to see the light of day.
Jan 13, 2018
Jan 13, 2018 at 4:02 AM UTC