samantha-mayberry - Hello Poetry

It is strange, the pull you gained I know barley who you are A mere moment you spent in my life Yet I still think of you In random moments I find myself wishing I were with you, uneasy with another I do not know you You do not know me, I was too strange in that place Hiding in vain from the world that crashed upon me I let you hold me up, not thinking of the burden I handed I let you hold me up, not knowing your own legs were so week Grief always brings upon such a bitter waltz I did not know you I felt it, that acknowledgement of significance, yet Never before has it went unanswered, never has intuition been left so unsatisfied It leaves me unsettled It drives questions of what it meant, and why it lingers Only now I see wisdom to halt those first admissions, to wait, to slow, to think I want to know you It is incessant, it is unruly Why can I not shake you from my memory There is no sense to be had, no explanation to look upon The confusion only mounts More when I ponder the way it was, and then was not all at once I would know you If you wanted it, you could open the pages and tell every story I would listen till I knew all you are Perhaps I am just crazy, I fear that is the case How after quite enough time has passed can I not end these moments missing you I do not know you How I long too

0

Mar 24, 2014

Mar 24, 2014 at 12:04 AM UTC

samantha-mayberry

Know you

It is strange, the pull you gained I know barley who you are A mere moment you spent in my life Yet I still think of you In random moments I find myself wishing I were with you, uneasy with another I do not know you You do not know me, I was too strange in that place Hiding in vain from the world that crashed upon me I let you hold me up, not thinking of the burden I handed I let you hold me up, not knowing your own legs were so week Grief always brings upon such a bitter waltz I did not know you I felt it, that acknowledgement of significance, yet Never before has it went unanswered, never has intuition been left so unsatisfied It leaves me unsettled It drives questions of what it meant, and why it lingers Only now I see wisdom to halt those first admissions, to wait, to slow, to think I want to know you It is incessant, it is unruly Why can I not shake you from my memory There is no sense to be had, no explanation to look upon The confusion only mounts More when I ponder the way it was, and then was not all at once I would know you If you wanted it, you could open the pages and tell every story I would listen till I knew all you are Perhaps I am just crazy, I fear that is the case How after quite enough time has passed can I not end these moments missing you I do not know you How I long too

30

That that gives us our power, our spark taken for granted what millenia has given we have climbed to such heights and conquered such an unruly globe in each of us lies the secrete, the essence of how we have been made embedded in our codes, each of us with this striking skill at each passing eon connections formed, with every member of our family in tow Speak, how we became this mind with feet our walks of great distance were not in silence each mile a new stage a stage upon which a new dance was performed and with each passionate step our very core emerged Listen as we engorge our neurons further With all the stores still told, the mountains of pages upon which we record Speech in all its glory Language our greatest gift For what are humans without language? Of all our many tools, none so skillfully used Each new epiphany owing to our original mastery Every ounce of life we know, what we call ... **** begins in this communication, continues in eloquent words of endless knowledge retold what can be said of human beings, only everything for what else are we but ceaseless speech a cascade of words vast elaborations upon which we have built our way of life to be human is to speak and to speak was to become human

0

Mar 10, 2014

Mar 10, 2014 at 12:50 AM UTC

samantha-mayberry

Speak

That that gives us our power, our spark taken for granted what millenia has given we have climbed to such heights and conquered such an unruly globe in each of us lies the secrete, the essence of how we have been made embedded in our codes, each of us with this striking skill at each passing eon connections formed, with every member of our family in tow Speak, how we became this mind with feet our walks of great distance were not in silence each mile a new stage a stage upon which a new dance was performed and with each passionate step our very core emerged Listen as we engorge our neurons further With all the stores still told, the mountains of pages upon which we record Speech in all its glory Language our greatest gift For what are humans without language? Of all our many tools, none so skillfully used Each new epiphany owing to our original mastery Every ounce of life we know, what we call ... **** begins in this communication, continues in eloquent words of endless knowledge retold what can be said of human beings, only everything for what else are we but ceaseless speech a cascade of words vast elaborations upon which we have built our way of life to be human is to speak and to speak was to become human

27

In sun light I feel less mundane... Perhaps I should walk out in it more often than just when my muddled brain demands I remove myself from the overgrown weeds of despair and self pity Let the light clear the clouds from my eyes Let the air blow away these half rooted seeds of grief Let it all remind I am young, vital, and I have strength

0

Mar 8, 2014

Mar 8, 2014 at 7:31 PM UTC

samantha-mayberry

Untitled

In sun light I feel less mundane... Perhaps I should walk out in it more often than just when my muddled brain demands I remove myself from the overgrown weeds of despair and self pity Let the light clear the clouds from my eyes Let the air blow away these half rooted seeds of grief Let it all remind I am young, vital, and I have strength

5

empty hole... how can you sit right where I exist? cold meaninglessness... how can you run through me where blood once coursed? bland mindlessness... why have you taken my thoughts? A giant crater now sits inside my being, I try to fill this space with substance but every new happiness is washed away in the tide of my wasted life. If I were to wish for something I feel it would be ripped so rapidly from me that I would go blind from the flash of hate! I try not to think so adamantly of what I truly need any longer, as I am afraid it will simply become a lifeless mess upon my wall. Where space makes you grow fonder, I am now left with only desperate screaming inside my head for someone to return and remove this wretched blindfold... what for? I'm sure my eyes have become so infected by lies and hate that I can no longer decipher image. Music and conversation only confusing noise, it drills into my pores and rings out what remains of my sanity. Even the softest touch, though it may comfort for a moment, leaves me, and then I feel only empty. I would reach out to you, to all, but when I do, I am turned away. So why? I accept my fate. I wont waste the precious time. But I waste now anyway, don't I?

0

Mar 8, 2014

Mar 8, 2014 at 5:18 PM UTC

samantha-mayberry

Empty

empty hole... how can you sit right where I exist? cold meaninglessness... how can you run through me where blood once coursed? bland mindlessness... why have you taken my thoughts? A giant crater now sits inside my being, I try to fill this space with substance but every new happiness is washed away in the tide of my wasted life. If I were to wish for something I feel it would be ripped so rapidly from me that I would go blind from the flash of hate! I try not to think so adamantly of what I truly need any longer, as I am afraid it will simply become a lifeless mess upon my wall. Where space makes you grow fonder, I am now left with only desperate screaming inside my head for someone to return and remove this wretched blindfold... what for? I'm sure my eyes have become so infected by lies and hate that I can no longer decipher image. Music and conversation only confusing noise, it drills into my pores and rings out what remains of my sanity. Even the softest touch, though it may comfort for a moment, leaves me, and then I feel only empty. I would reach out to you, to all, but when I do, I am turned away. So why? I accept my fate. I wont waste the precious time. But I waste now anyway, don't I?

16

I have thought long and hard, yet my mind is still a blur. Delusion seems to be more favorable still. I look for the line, the notches on the sides, the tapering so it will fit; it isn't there, no it does not exist. Where is my head, who is this? What am I to dream idly while life becomes hell, and the time drains from my reservoir? When did I forget that if you don't occasionally fan the flames they reduce to nothing but embers? Every morning I stare at my ceiling, squinting, wishing I could make the bumps become more than meaningless fuzzy pictures that disperse the moment I allow my eyes to return to norm. Why does it anger me so that they are just splotches of paint and plaster? What about this turns my mood so instantly? What is it inside me that is forgotten so that I no longer can take these tiny splatters and recount an endless history of a small world that knows no end? Of battles, and loves, events happening continuously? Why have I become so dull? To what end is a brain if it is left with no imagination? To what end is a heart if it is left with no future? I ask this now, my soul, what is it for? I survive in an endless controversy between what is and what I thought should be. I can't seem to let go of what I can not change. Even now, as I write these words, they are bare, boring, cold ashes that once could have burned.

0

Mar 8, 2014

Mar 8, 2014 at 4:31 PM UTC

samantha-mayberry

What is this For?

I have thought long and hard, yet my mind is still a blur. Delusion seems to be more favorable still. I look for the line, the notches on the sides, the tapering so it will fit; it isn't there, no it does not exist. Where is my head, who is this? What am I to dream idly while life becomes hell, and the time drains from my reservoir? When did I forget that if you don't occasionally fan the flames they reduce to nothing but embers? Every morning I stare at my ceiling, squinting, wishing I could make the bumps become more than meaningless fuzzy pictures that disperse the moment I allow my eyes to return to norm. Why does it anger me so that they are just splotches of paint and plaster? What about this turns my mood so instantly? What is it inside me that is forgotten so that I no longer can take these tiny splatters and recount an endless history of a small world that knows no end? Of battles, and loves, events happening continuously? Why have I become so dull? To what end is a brain if it is left with no imagination? To what end is a heart if it is left with no future? I ask this now, my soul, what is it for? I survive in an endless controversy between what is and what I thought should be. I can't seem to let go of what I can not change. Even now, as I write these words, they are bare, boring, cold ashes that once could have burned.

16