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Arabella Sep 2018
When I saw her I couldn't do anything.
I couldn't feel anything.


You stood there with her, caressing her like you did to me.
I was told not to watch you anymore.


I watch the house everyday from the train.
I watch you anyway.


I sat on my bed,
I stayed until I fell asleep but I could still feel the hatred for her even in my dreams.


Over and over I hear her voice
Over and over and over


The doctor said its only temporary, that I wouldn't have to worry anymore.
© Arabella (13/09/18)
Sep 2018 · 153
Arabella Sep 2018
Fingertips shaking
Heart racing
Giggling comes from the corner of His mind,
is He really fine?

You see, He was never okay because what He did today was not what He did yesterday.
He Thought.
He didn't Think yesterday He was mindless the other day but not today.

He Thought and it tore,
it tore His heart more and more until there was nothing left.
He never thought He could Think anymore.
Not after you.

You were all He Thought about so He swore never to Think again.

But He did today.

He saw your face.

He saw it and it made His heart pace.

Because even though you drained His soul,
He would still save you over the rest of the human race.
This is the second half to HE.
I know it's terribly misleading, but ill leave it up to you to interpret this two part narrative.

© Arabella (09/09/18)
Aug 2018 · 130
Arabella Aug 2018
Its 1am again.
You run through my mind like wild fire through a flourishing forest.
Nausea filling an ocean that is my stomach.
I cant feel a thing,
head numb,
eyes blank.
All of this because you didn't call.
© Arabella (16/08/18)
I'm alive.
Jun 2018 · 262
Arabella Jun 2018
I will write my lines like I do my time.
I will itch until I bleed just for you.
I will fill in the gaps with each patch of my clothing to make sure you're still breathing.
Because if you're still breathing,
then so am I.
Im not sure of what I just created.
© Arabella (05/06/18)
Jun 2018 · 182
Arabella Jun 2018
He wakes up.
He doesn't feel a thing.
He leaves for work in a rush.
He works with a hush painted across His lips.
He is fine.
He is okay.
He cried today but He is okay I assure you.
He drinks His pain.
He swallows His pride.
He is fine.
He is not fine.
He is okay.
He is not just any old He.
He is Him.
For Him to be Him He has to be who He really is.
He has to be him.
He is more than okay.
He is fine.
He has time to fix your crimes I assure you.
He paints words on a social media page to show you, His audience, He adores you.
He is a faceless race of His own.
He is fine.
He is okay.
It sort of flew out of my brain and looked acceptable.
© Arabella (03/06/18)
May 2018 · 172
Arabella May 2018
When you look at us do we make you shiver?
Do we look like murderers all grouped together?
When you see us dressed in our best does that mean we are asking for it?
When you hear our cries are we doing it just for the hell of it?

Does seeing me make music bathed in profanity,
Imply that I'm coming for your family?
Trousers hanging, south London slang,
All of this must mean i'm in a gang...right?

My makeup is pristine
Lips shiny skin clean.
I must be begging for attention from older guys,
Bursting in desire for someone to be in between my thighs.
So when you hear my cries on the TV,
“He didn't show his face but I know he ***** me”,
We are most definitely faking all of what happened.

Those people in the ****** related crews,
Seeing them in the news isn't seeing us in the news,
Those are the few who wish and choose to do such a terrible crime.
We breathe through corrupted lungs,
Bathing in the judgmental stares,
just because a woman fell down those stairs while I was right behind her?
Your inquiries and suggestions only tie the loose noose tighter.

We are not the youth you think we are,
Hovering below societies scar on our reputation.
We would be ashamed to be you.
© Arabella (31/05/18)
Mar 2018 · 154
Arabella Mar 2018
When it snows the sound is muffled.
You no longer hear the bus galloping messily down the street,
you no longer hear the men laughing from two doors down.
Cigarette in hand with not a care in the world,
tattoos painted intricately across their skin.

You can only hear that of your mind-that,
of when you fall asleep is silenced by these noises.
They create distraction however,
when it snows the sound is muffled.

No longer can you hold back what is in your mind,
everything starts to flow so freely with a elegant persona,
it can tear you apart with the most delicate of movements.
Twists and turns of regrets and lessons learned.

Until the snow stops,
the torture is over.
You no longer hear those silenced knives.
You note that the men two doors down have moved to your garden wall and you hear that they too weren't okay to begin with.
The buses tiptoe a little quieter than before,
the world is not so muffled anymore.
This doesn't feel finished
Sorry for not posting
© Arabella (03/03/18)
Jun 2017 · 173
Lessons Learned
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)
Jun 2017 · 198
Keep calm and carry on
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)
May 2017 · 178
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)
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)
Apr 2017 · 219
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)
Mar 2017 · 220
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)
Mar 2017 · 642
Will you marry me?
Arabella Mar 2017
A drunken soul asked me:
Will you marry me?
His words slurred however his intentions were not blurred as they spilled out of my delicate sleepers mind.
Suddenly that one question seemed all too real to me
and I smiled.
I smiled a thousand suns and a million other galaxies because of the one question.
Will you marry me?

Suddenly the images of a bright white wedding dress bombarded my vision,
the silk like clouds,
and a prominent black suit stood by its side.
Faceless yet I knew who it was.
Then the vivid daydream ended,
and I found myself sat on my bed,
in front of a phone,
'not quite yet we're too young baby **'.
Yet that answer felt wrong.

Saying yes would mean the world to me.
But being 16 is a number that marriage would regret ever meeting.
Age is just a number right?
But when it implies the world's prominent questions...
Age is a limit.
So I said maybe.

Maybe one day.
Maybe today.
Maybe next week, next month, next year.

But for now,
how about we settle with a promise.
I promise my dear to always love you,
cherish you.
I will never cheat.
Or steal your love.
I am yours and you are mine.

Will I marry you?
Just some other time.
© Arabella (12/03/17)
Mar 2017 · 557
My delicate sleeper
Arabella Mar 2017
My delicate sleeper has a twisted mind,
tales of his soulmate weaved with a soft terror that fails to shake his soul.
Surrounded by soulless figures with no character.
Their knives of satan embedded deep within kin.

My delicate sleeper has a twisted mind,
the beautiful gold embroidery enclosed in an attractive horror.
His eyes hold the blue of holy water,
his dreams hold the blades of lucifer.

I love it.
I love my little delicate sleeper.
I wouldn't have him any other way.
© Arabella (7/03/17)
Feb 2017 · 248
Arabella Feb 2017
a single word with one single superpower
to divide two souls
preventing them from ever multiplying.

Oh distance you son of a gun
you *murderer

you soul severer
you lacerate love as if it was simply a piece of paper

you sever me as if i were merely nothing
you monster
you *******

I want to be with him yet your intentions are to only split us apart

I can never love
I can only lose
all because of you

© Arabella (27/02/17)
Feb 2017 · 467
Love to some
Arabella Feb 2017
Love to some is a metaphorical creature
it moves in the night possessing those who sleep with another,
it lives inside everyone whether it be platonic or not.
This metaphor of an iridescent emotion is not a force to reckon with,
it breaks people into two,
controls them driving them completely insane,
it hurts the innocent putting their self confidence to shame.

Love to some is a burden,
it burns your insides to oblivion.
"mother it hurts" she isn't there to help because this internal pain isn't something that Jim could fix.
In fact Jim will make it worse.

love to some is a quick release,
a fix,
a drug,
a metaphorical object mental illness that wont leave their mind body and soul.

love my dear quick run and hide,
some of them want to use you .
What they use you for is either the worst thing in the world,
or the best thing in the entire universe.

However love for me?
is non-exsistent
Happy Valentines day i guess, i mean this isn't the happiest poem externally but you can find internal happiness within most things.
© Arabella (14/02/17)
Arabella Feb 2017
Ive joined the crowd at the station
I joined all the suits ties and pretty black lies
The distinct chatter of plans made
The hum of the train against its tracks.

Ive joined the crowd at the station
The smell of burnt coffee and grease
The hustle and bustle
The early morning shouts of the tannoys canceling and creating arrivals and departures

London never felt like home
Yet here i am
In a coffee store at the station
Feeling more at home than ive ever felt.

Where am i you ask?
Im at the station.
I live in south london.
Going up into central isnt a pleasure i have these days but when i do boy oh boy do i feel amazing
© Arabella (13/02/17)
Feb 2017 · 178
Broken soldier
Arabella Feb 2017
If I turn your head I can study your features
The lacerations like tattoos littered across your face
The bruising around each eye
Blue and purple darker than each night sky

If I travel further down I see another battlefield
Shattered collarbone like ruins
And a sea of red to match
Like a river within your skin

If I trek down to your waist
There are no signs of life
Hipbones swelling into big hot air balloons
From the beatings you took

If I step back and scan the rest
I couldn’t make anymore judgments
Everything is blurred
Go to sleep my dear son
Rest in peace
© Arabella (03/02/17)
Jan 2017 · 190
Arabella Jan 2017
Fingertips drumming.
Breath slow.
Soft humming.
Hymn reciting.
Giggling, because I know its all a lie.

Breath quickening.
Pen scribbling.
Black ink spreading like wild fire,
Words only I understand.
Doctors think its a reason to up the dosage.

Tick tock.
Drip drop.
Splish splash.
***** ***** *****.
Wash the water make it clean,
Swallow the pills make me normal.

Tomorrow is a new day.
Lets start it all over again.
© Arabella (01/01/17)
This is only the beginning

— The End —