veronica-joy
My name is Veronica / I'm 21 / I am a painter, poetry is my second outlet / These are my life experiences. / I believe completely wholeheartedly in the power of creativity. / Let me know what you think : ) / / / "Art does not exist in commerce or fiscal opportunities, but in the blood, bones, flesh, and souls of those who seek to create it" -Otep Shamaya
I’ve realize that these memories shall never leave me.
They have left a permanent imprint on my soul.
Like perpetual scars,
Spiraling so dizzily around my body.
And I wonder how long they will last,
Or If I’ll ever be pleased at my reflection.
They exist among all of you too.
With your stories,
That could carve novels into your skin.
And I mourn for you,
And for this world.
I morn for us.
And we always knew it would be this way,
As the multitudes of tears that I shed,
Create pools around my ankles.
I think about the lost potential.
Regretfully the water is rising,
And I sink into your gorgeous eyes.
I don’t want to say we could have been so much more.
As our generation screams when will it get better?
The hypocrites preach and their sheep will follow.
And why does it take so much?
They are all the same empty vessels,
Just as terrified as you.
So have heart.
Even though nothing changes,
And we all move amongst each other,
Like phantoms forever searching,
Exploited by the evil residue,
of the scars that remain.
But I can’t give up now,
Love is all I have to believe in.
Oct 27, 2011
Oct 27, 2011 at 2:03 AM UTC
I hate you,
And I want you to feel it,
To know it,
And to bear it.
I hate you with every ounce of my being.
I hate you as much as I love him.
The amount of scorn in my heart
Is incomparable to the damage that you have caused.
Because now he is cradled in my arms,
As I’m hold back two sets of tears,
Trembling with disdain.
I hate you for being there first,
And for being everything…
I hate you for hurting him,
For ripping him apart,
Into a thousand pieces,
The rest for me to mend
I hate you for haunting us
You are not allowed to live beyond this division.
And even though we’ve never met,
I can still see you standing there,
Smirking though shattered glass.
I hate you for having him,
In such a destructive way.
Succumbing to deteriorating sanity,
Influenced by deceit.
I hate you for bringing out my insecurities,
And for illustrating my picturesque anxiety…
Even though you’re only a memory,
I hate everything that you are,
Will be,
And have been.
You had no right to love him,
And for this I will always hold you in contempt.
Feb 3, 2011
Feb 3, 2011 at 5:33 PM UTC
I’m trying to paint a picture
But it’s not at all what I want it to say
It would be better to just find a mirror
But what would a facsimile convey?
It would only show the surface
Minimal details of shadows and shapes.
I’m practiced in the art of skewed perception
Only the canvas knows of this change
More can be done with paint,
I relent like Dorian gray.
It’s silly to think, that a self portrait would be of my face.
Instrumental kaleidoscope to peer into my soul
Revealing every speck of kindness
Every varying pigment and tone
Every hue of acrylic disdain
Only to ask, who am I?
This colorful brigade
Refusing to relay
The black and white mundane
Full chroma saturated aura
I defy to splatter outside the lines
Oozing moonlight off my page,
Just to sketch the silver lining
Depicting sunshine with my shame
Creation, destruction, art, corruption
Illustration of my story
The final portrait to portray.
Jan 11, 2011
Jan 11, 2011 at 3:03 PM UTC
She did this.
She always does.
Sending me into the dark,
Just when everything seems to be falling into place,
She has a break down.
Swiftly falling out of grace.
Gratifying a taste for violence,
And gratuitous self medication.
It makes the reckless danger,
Enough to satisfy her impulsive nature.
She’s so emotional,
Empty and vulnerable.
Afraid of every wandering thought.
A picturesque noir,
I know it’s all her fault.
She isn’t real.
I’ll say in repetition.
Paranoid and anxious,
She persuaded separation.
Attempting to restore,
Something that was tainted.
Polluted by self hatred,
She suddenly falls prey.
To her own incapacity,
To love and be loved.
This impossibility,
Seemed like everything.
Regret is useless.
She did this.
Dec 23, 2010
Dec 23, 2010 at 8:21 PM UTC
No.
Simple as that,
It’s not happening, I refuse.
You can’t deny me as long as I pretend,
Deep down, I know that this has come to an end.
There’s no fooling me anymore.
It’s crystal clear, beyond my fears.
I wonder if there will ever be a day,
When my mind will go back to normal,
And every time I close my eyes,
I won’t see your stupid lovely face,
And I won’t think about the things,
That I know you love and hate,
These now useless facts,
Are cluttered in my brain.
They occupy too much space,
And drive me close to insane.
On the brink of desperation,
These feelings transform into hate,
But this amount of rage,
Is unheard of and strange,
Completely misdirected.
I wonder who, and if, and what,
Or if I was neglected and dejected.
All of these futile things.
But really, I’ll do anything…
To deaf ears my promises plead please.
It was worth a try, I guess.
I know I need to quit.
My heart cries in vain,
Because it’s a stubborn piece of ****
The sadness comes so naturally,
I’m drowning in it,
Drained lifeless from the melancholy.
It spreads like cancer,
Ravaging my body.
The worst disease is memory.
Why can’t you just be normal?
Just another person on the street.
I’ll give it up, I’ll try,
Even though it’s still a part of me.
Each day I’ll think, and laugh, and grieve,
Until the point where it’s not unfeasible to dream,
Of complete and total inner peace, acceptance finally.
Dec 23, 2010
Dec 23, 2010 at 8:18 PM UTC
The storm was eerie today.
I was standing outside,
Tears streaming down my face.
Soon they were joined by rain.
It was cold and bright.
I screamed.
The thunder echoed me.
Nature was hurting too.
Or maybe she was trying to soothe my wounds.
I went inside.
To lie in bed,
Dripping wet.
Pondering things that will never come to pass.
I peered out the window,
Just in time to see lightning flash.
It excited me.
I wish it didn’t.
The exhilaration is involuntary.
I hear the faint sounds of electric rhythm.
She Wants Revenge is on repeat,
Mixing with the storm,
Accentuating every beat.
I’m baffle by their insight.
How can a man tell the story of a broken woman so well?
From her perspective,
Like he knows how she feels.
And what she’s thinking when she’s all alone.
Maybe it’s because he loved her,
And absorbed her, and destroyed her,
Their true feelings now unknown.
But passion haunts me.
As I sink into their tale.
Hoping this storm will cleanse me.
And that Rachel will prevail.
Dec 23, 2010
Dec 23, 2010 at 8:49 AM UTC