There's a part of me that thinks I'm a princess-
theres another part of me that thinks im a despicable vermin.
I'm a royal who lives in a gated castle-
or im a slave who roams the empty streets.
I eat from grand tables with only the finest of people-
or i scrounge for scraps in the trash of the elite.
I look at the poor and pity them-
or i look at the rich and feel envy.
I wear silk and fine linens-
or i wear nothing at all.
I love myself-
or i hate every fiber of my being.
I deserve a prince from a foreign country-
or i deserve the dirt beneath my feet.
Apr 4, 2015
Apr 4, 2015 at 1:33 PM UTC
"'Tis better to be vile than vile esteemed."
Oh, Shakespeare, knowest thou not what is in my dreams?
I am both for I do bad deeds,
yet from judgement I receive no relief.
Their eyes are adulterate, but so are mine;
both our eyes with sins do shine.
Thou seest not what I do;
I am evil through and through.
The worst of evils am I,
for in my soul I am kind,
though my exterior pierce like barbs,
for I let myself be rule not by my heart.
I soothe the pain with hidden love
praying at least to be forgiven by God above.
Apr 4, 2015
Apr 4, 2015 at 1:32 PM UTC
Do you ever look back at the things you've written?
If you haven't, I strongly suggest you don't.
You'll find things about yourself lurking behind your own words.
things that you never wanted to know.
Painful memories that flowed through your fingertips
in a moment of breathless euphoria.
You see your despair in every letter,
every tear-stained letter.
You see your hope for happiness fade at every line.
You sometimes wish you could rewind.
Other times you just want to close your eyes.
But you're stuck,
reading words you'd forgotten you'd ever written.
Like a really ****** TV, that only has 5 channels,
And the all play the same show,
With the same theme song,
Replaying the same episodes.
You change the channel hoping to get something new
But the ****** TV keeps mocking you.
You can't stop it,
You can't pause it,
You can't rewind the stupid thing.
You just sit there and cry
and you never know why.
Jan 3, 2015
Jan 3, 2015 at 5:51 PM UTC
Don’t fall in love with me,
I have nothing to offer.
I won't hold or caress your hand;
I will grip onto it for dear life.
I won't kiss your fears away;
I'm too busy crying away mine.
Our conversations won't be inspiring;
I'm always bringing myself down.
I won't warm your body at night;
I don't think I've ever felt warmth.
I won't whisper sweet nothings in your ear;
I have too many whispering that I am nothing in my own.
Please don't fall in love with me.
I love you too much to let you do that.
Because I won't take away your pain.
I'll only make it stronger.
Dec 15, 2014
Dec 15, 2014 at 8:59 PM UTC
His eyes flicker across the scenery,
Breathing in every beautiful factor.
He looks trapped in his own world of variety.
Every tree, every bush, every flower interests him.
But my eyes don't care.
They focus on the only beautiful scene in this dark world.
My eyes travel over the golden plains of his face.
Taking in the flow of his pale eyelashes.
I can't tear my eyes away from the curve of his lips, how his teeth worry at the skin there when he thinks.
I focus on the furrow of his brow when the sun becomes too bright.
The twinkle in his eyes when he looks back,
And I just can't look away
Even when our eyes meet
And the skin around his crinkle
Showing all the laughs he had laughed
Showing the happiness he's felt.
And I can't help but wonder
When did he become more beautiful than the ocean,
The river,
The trees in the forest?
When did his eyes begin to shine brighter than the sun off a lake?
When did I fall in love with him?
Then I see him look at her
As if the swell of her nose is more precious than snow covered mountains,
As if her hair is more wonderful than a crashing waterfall.
And I wonder,
When did he fall in love with her?
Sep 6, 2014
Sep 6, 2014 at 8:19 AM UTC
I'm afraid in this place
full of cobwebs and insects
with more legs than I have teeth.
There is no light, no hope, no order.
The clock continuously strikes midnight.
Morning light is never achieved, never grasped.
Fleeting moments of happiness, joy, love
feed the ravenous spiders within.
I'm free to roam inside,
but I've never felt more confined.
Sep 4, 2014
Sep 4, 2014 at 10:36 PM UTC
Every beginning
has an ending.
Just as every ending
has a beginning.
A dizzying cycle of beginnings and endings
Never truly ending.
The end is a hypothetical comforter,
Given to those who weep
To give them something to strive towards.
But really, there is no end.
Once you’ve reached the end,
You see it is only the beginning of the end.
Now you’ve wasted away,
Hoping for the end.
So you try and try and try
To grasp the blanket and pull it around yourself.
The end.
But you begin to grow
And the blanket becomes too small
For your now enormous body,
And cold seeps through the end of the blanket and chills your very soul.
Another ending;
The end of warmth, of comfort.
However, this ending is also another beginning.
The beginning of yet another journey towards yet another end.
As you can now see, the end is never truly the end
Simply a mythical pause,
A hitch in your breath
A ray of hope.
The ray grows as the day continues,
But diminishes as the night is ****** upon the earth.
Until once again the sun shines.
Although you may think there is an end,
I can assure there truly is not.
For every beginning
there is an ending.
Just as every ending
Has a beginning.
So to those who weep,
Let me shine upon you
A dabble of light:
If you ever feel that you have hit The End,
I declare you have simply reached another beginning.
Aug 29, 2014
Aug 29, 2014 at 9:50 PM UTC
Here, in the land of illusions
where time is no longer measured by mere seconds,
but by the number of relentless waves crashing on the shore,
a child calls for help.
His voice is muffled by the swing of the necklaces;
the clicking of the jewels;
the shine of the artistry.
Things that cannot be overlooked overshadow the things that must not be.
Sun burns the skin of the fragile child, the sand singes the pads of his feet.
But the sting of the smile of the blissfully ignorant decimate his very soul.
His only hope lies in the shade of a single blue umbrella perched in the sand, listening to the ticking of the ocean.
There, another child sits and quietly weeps to her mother
of the injustices she cannot change.
Her tears, like the toys of the merchant child,
are a cry for help,
hoping to harmonize with the songs of the helpless,
that someone may hear
and give the child a quarter.
Aug 29, 2014
Aug 29, 2014 at 9:49 PM UTC
We're all immortal,
until something comes along
and kills us.
Aug 18, 2014
Aug 18, 2014 at 4:29 PM UTC
Some day,
when your face is wet with silent tears,
I'll cry.
Because of the pain you've endured,
and knowing that there will be more.
Because of the sadness you've seen,
and what you wish could be unseen.
Some day,
when your hands are calloused and worn,
I'll smile.
Because of the man you've become,
and the work you've done.
Because of the past you've had,
and the future ahead.
Apr 29, 2014
Apr 29, 2014 at 11:04 PM UTC