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Arabella Jun 2017
I learned never to fall in love.
Love is a metaphorical monster,
It eats you up
Spits you out,
and leaves a babbling mess behind.

But I fell in love with you,
Your love is the deadliest of them all.
Sharp teeth.
Caring touch.
Menacing eyes.
Irresistible smile.
Hungry for the death of my heart,
Yet you look so peaceful
© Arabella (22/06/17)
Arabella Jun 2017
You think that we have been beaten,
Torn and broken
Skin peeled back,
Fire awoken.

You think we have no hope,
Blood freely flowing
Bathing in our fear,
Soaking in our torment.

We have none of those,
For we have hearts of steel,
For we have tears like acid that will burn through you.

We have hope,
We have faith,
We are strong,
We are warriors,
We built this city,
We will not let it fall.

We will keep calm,
We will carry on.
© Arabella (08/06/17)
Arabella May 2017
The way she danced was like a water lily upon tainted liquid.
Her skin a tanned ivory,
as she spin's the scars of a broken past reveal,
but they do not seem to ruin the immaculate image of this delicate​ orchid.
Her movements are that of the soft sea breeze,
that soft sea breeze seems foreign to those who's mind speak judgement.

Her eyes are glimmering sapphires embedded into her skull.
I could stare at her all day but that action means playing a dangerous game.
For you cannot look into her eyes for too long,
She will capture your​ heart effortlessly and fail to return it.

Her freckles​ paint a symphony across her slender figure,
Her beauty marks glide and spin across her skin,

One on her jawline.

One just above her right breast.

One on her carefully crafted hip.

She dares to dance like a soft angel.
A pastel yellow in a sea of crimson red.
You make the world light up little tiny dancer,
so please my delicate little orchid,
dance the night away.
© Arabella (22/05/17)
  May 2017 Arabella
Ryan Holden
How many rhymes and lines,
Have met the same paper,
With the same pen,
Minds thoughts and designs,
Differ from poet to next,
Lyricists to artists,
Beginning a new quest,
Breaking and making,
Pain and love,
Experienced emotions lay down,
Written in rhythm,
Express to distress,
Tearing page after page,
Of flooding emotions,
Signature of similar,
Inked on white,
Within multiple occasions,
How many authors,
Write the same write?
Whilst I was picking a new topic to write, I suddenly thought, how many writers write the same thing, in similar form, but the writers aren't aware of!
Arabella May 2017
Who are you and where do you come from?
Your face is not familiar to us,
Nor is ours familiar to you.

You ponder around these streets in wonder,
As if that guy in the sky with the debatable existance created a world of some sort,
A new world.

Your skin is tanned and your eyes are brown,
Not like ours.
We're not the same.
Our skin is pale and heavenly and our eyes are an icy blue.

Your choice of clothing is foreign,
Your shirt isnt cut in half nor are your jeans,
Your stomach and legs are hidden unlike ours.

I dont know where you come from.
So tell me,
Who  are  you.
© Arabella (04/05/17)
Arabella Apr 2017
"where did it go?"
one half said,
"it ran away with the fairies"
the other spoke.
I giggled at the two,
for the halves are my brain, aren't you like this too?
The voices swimming ever since I was five,
they are the very reason why I feel so alive.
They're coated in black,
their eyes a thick red,
I don't know where they came from but they're living in my head.

"Arabella my dear. why so sad"
its not my fault,
Its the voices dad.
They beat me and hurt me,
tear me into two,
tell me all the good things about dying too.

I love my little voices but wouldn't it be great,
if one day I woke up to find that they had gone?

But they have returned after a month and boy aren't they glad,
for they love to see me,
to see me sad.
© Arabella (05/04/17)
Arabella Mar 2017
His voice was a deep red like the blood coursing through my abandoned veins, like the silk on a wedding dress.
His aura was a orange, a enticing warning,like a class A drug..addictive no matter how many times you take it.

His personality a bright yellow like a sunflower in a war-zone.
And you my love were a scarlet and I a striking cobalt,
and when we collided we created a lilac so beautiful.
But the lilac we made was messy...rushed...and then my delicate sleeper we were divided.
This poem is rushed...i'm sorry for not uploading more but i'm going through a rough patch right now.
© Arabella (31/03/17)
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