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thund3r-bird
25/F ~local weird girl trying to express her big thoughts & emotions in the only way she's figured out how~ / / *any poems I post here are original and personal to me in some way. (please be considerate xx)
i hate snow but i love winter you always told me i was a walking contradiction but this time when you left the snow covers the ground and hides the footprints laid forgotten when you walked out of our front door without saying goodbye and now my hearts shattering into a million tiny snowflakes floating around the sky until it turns to a blizzard because the more I think of all the fun we had - the harder the snow falls swirling around my head like all the memories we created just like the snowman in our yard but eventually the sun came out and he melted his nose and button eyes falling to the ground as fast as I fell head over heels for you and now I remember why I love winter but hate the snow
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May 22, 2018
May 22, 2018 at 8:43 AM UTC
hate the snow - revamp
I am the rain, contact and I stain, hydration for the nation but they always complain. I'm better than snow, or atleast they say so, less cold but I'm bold when I make the wind blow. Oh how the clouds cover all of my scars, but the comforting shelter blocks the beautiful stars. And all of the thunder blocks all of my cries, I slip when I drip straight out of the skies. I'm the rain, I'm the rain, down the drain. I am the rain, sun storms I can feign, it will fight for the light but I always remain. My puddles collect each dribble and speck, with a splash then I'm brash just like you would expect. Oh how the clouds cover all of my scars, the blanket of grey mask the twinkle of Mars. And all of the lightning makes everyone blind, you will pass greener grass when I'm around, you will find. I'm the rain, I'm the rain, sunshine's bane. I am the rain, wash away the pain, I get bored and absorb into dirt and to grain. My heart is the storm, it still keeps me warm, it shakes, the Earth quakes, but still keeps it's form. Oh how the clouds cover all of my scars, as I fall down on sidewalks and shower the cars. And when the wind blows it pushes me far away, I'll travel through gravel but always will stay. I'm the rain, I'm the rain, through each vein.
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Jan 26, 2018
Jan 26, 2018 at 12:05 PM UTC
The Reign
Stripped bare what are we ? static electricity ? impulses of energy ? no, we are souls loose in a baron land, wandering hermits tightly packed in shells, memories, thoughts, feelings emotions, all strung together in an ethereal corpse, passed on like an Olympic torch, after the shell has expired, picked up by the next runner. What defines you my friend ? seek the answers in your weary dreams, there you shall find your sanctuary.
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Jan 26, 2018
Jan 26, 2018 at 12:01 PM UTC
Wandering souls
When Winter hits I'll be wishing I was still young, but when Summer's around I'm still biting my tongue. We both know that the storms have always been mine, I never claimed to be blue skies and sunshine. Atleast the nights are almost always cold, but they keep me warm with the beauty of the stars. Shining wishes for all, or so I'm told, accessories for both Jupiter and Mars. The snow covers all with blinding white, but in the Summer the grass could always be more green. We both know the storms have always been mine by rite, 'cause the blue skies were never truly clean. You know every four season, time has never moved so fast. They've all blended for no reason, never disappearing but they never last. The world turns, the moon shines, The sun burns, Nature's designs. When Winter hits I'll be wishing I was still young, but when Summer's around it still seems Spring never sprung. We both know the storms we're always made for me, I have always been the rain and you the sea. You know every four season, time has never moved so fast, freezing to death when I let the breeze in, and the outcome never matches the forecast. The world turns, the moon shines, and everyone yearns, everyday for some signs.
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Jan 26, 2018
Jan 26, 2018 at 12:00 PM UTC
Winter's Kiss
He tells me, "i think you are sad." But i don't know him well enough to whisper my secrets to him, about the waves that crash in my skull for hours on end. And that sometimes i cry because my mothers country is so far away, and i don't feel like home here, but i don't feel home there either and I'm very lost. And maybe that's why i always look confused and hurt. Because my own country does not feed me. And my mother works 52 hours a week and i hear her bones creak from my bedroom but there's only so much i can do with her feet in my lap. So i ignore it and think about my bruises instead. I could tell him that I'm so so in love with about 7 people at any given time and if you ask me to name them all and tell you their 2am habits i could, but my own secrets are secrets even to myself. I said 'my skin is so horribly pale im worried people will see how brittle my bones are.' and he looked confused so i left it. I wanted to write about my father but apparently having 'daddy issues' is a new trend and i don't want to be part of anything that glamourises my mothers scars. I am both fascinated and terrified of the sea and i think that's why I'm bound to drown one day, because sometimes i truly believe i am a mermaid and its ironic because my swimming is horrendus. But im also interested in knowing what it feels like for my lungs to fill with something other than smoke for once. So i guess im excited about that. I think when i die they'll say 'she had good intentions'. And leave me to decompose, which i think is the saddest way to go because 'at least she tried' is almost as bad as 'she was pointless'.  And i dont think i want them to say either. I think i want them to be quiet. I think about the word pointless a lot because its the word that comes to mind when im asked to describe anything. Mondays are pointless. Sundays are also pointless. Saturdays hold so much hope though which I think is why i survived this week.
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Dec 3, 2017
Dec 3, 2017 at 7:35 PM UTC
no sleep
He tells me, "i think you are sad." But i don't know him well enough to whisper my secrets to him, about the waves that crash in my skull for hours on end. And that sometimes i cry because my mothers country is so far away, and i don't feel like home here, but i don't feel home there either and I'm very lost. And maybe that's why i always look confused and hurt. Because my own country does not feed me. And my mother works 52 hours a week and i hear her bones creak from my bedroom but there's only so much i can do with her feet in my lap. So i ignore it and think about my bruises instead. I could tell him that I'm so so in love with about 7 people at any given time and if you ask me to name them all and tell you their 2am habits i could, but my own secrets are secrets even to myself. I said 'my skin is so horribly pale im worried people will see how brittle my bones are.' and he looked confused so i left it. I wanted to write about my father but apparently having 'daddy issues' is a new trend and i don't want to be part of anything that glamourises my mothers scars. I am both fascinated and terrified of the sea and i think that's why I'm bound to drown one day, because sometimes i truly believe i am a mermaid and its ironic because my swimming is horrendus. But im also interested in knowing what it feels like for my lungs to fill with something other than smoke for once. So i guess im excited about that. I think when i die they'll say 'she had good intentions'. And leave me to decompose, which i think is the saddest way to go because 'at least she tried' is almost as bad as 'she was pointless'.  And i dont think i want them to say either. I think i want them to be quiet. I think about the word pointless a lot because its the word that comes to mind when im asked to describe anything. Mondays are pointless. Sundays are also pointless. Saturdays hold so much hope though which I think is why i survived this week.
Continue reading...
11
it's like the more i try to be "normal" the further away the goal becomes i've tried time and time again to make myself look pretty and skinny and beautiful all for you and when that wasn't enough i tattooed my skin with both ink and the scars from a blade to see if you would like me better but the ink is now faded the scars are now pale and lets be truthful - no one likes a girl who's disappearing
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Apr 21, 2017
Apr 21, 2017 at 7:57 PM UTC
Disappearing
storm clouds surround my head and thunder claps in the distance or is that the beating of my heart? i sometimes get nature’s wrath and my own confused when I think of you so I apologize – you see when I cry, usually the sky does too but maybe it’s because I always told you how I loved the rain and you would laugh when I danced in the mud puddles after a storm but now? now the ground is dry and cracked and the rain clouds never come here anymore
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Apr 20, 2017
Apr 20, 2017 at 8:56 PM UTC
Mud Puddles
and so I waited in the dark wood the wind howling, making me a nervous wreck as my patience grew thin. where was he? a howl could be heard in the wind causing my nails to embed themselves in the bark of the tree behind me
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Mar 15, 2016
Mar 15, 2016 at 8:56 PM UTC
Untitled
For Alice (Who used to be me) I have believed in fairy tales Once I walked in worlds of rosy hue I lived in Wonderland and Counterpane dreaming dreams I knew would all come true Morning turns to noon day to evening all too soon Oz can turn to ashes in just a day Princes return as frogs to their lily pads Wonderlands Alice is a matron growing grey No one comes to kiss the princess as she sleeps, Knights in shining armor ride no more. Tinker bell is dying with no one to believe. The Mad Hatter is laughing at the door. The dragon is not slain but lives in glory Roxanne always marries Christian after all Cinderella sits forever midst the ashes Too late for Alice the door is much to small The Emerald City's walls are bottle glass And reality has crushed them neath its heel The yellow brick road leads nowhere very quickly And Alice knows that lonely is the only thing she'll feel oh! let alice return to Wonderland again, Away from the mud and slime outside the looking glass. Life is much to large without that tiny door, And she would seek the March Hares party where time will never pass.
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Mar 13, 2016
Mar 13, 2016 at 3:34 PM UTC
For Alice (Who used to be me)