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*      ·   
   ✦                      . ˚   
                                                          ✦      · .
  ·     . .   *    *  . * .         ·
·           ·✷ *              +     ·   ⊹  . ˚  ˚    ˚     * . who will mourn the world ˚
+   ·  when there is nothing left?+                ˚
+   ·        *   ✺ ˚ ⊹           ✵      ˚ +    . .          ˚    ✷ ·  .   .       · *      ⊹   . ⋆ ˚
*       *      ·   
   ✦                      . ˚
·           ·✷ *                  +     · ✵           ✫    * .      * .  .
I felt like space
so so alone
If it makes you feel better

I'll say that I'm OK

It's a lie but I'll say it anyway
Sometimes lying is too easy.
eighty-seven drafts
now there are eighty-eight
yet another blank slate...
I will ask myself only one thing.
What are my words worth?
no such thing as abstinence
just one sip and then that's it
drink from the bottle
sell your soul
and smile
just have a taste
they tell me
A silent rainstorm
A shower of wild feelings
I'm sick of rain

I wish it would leave
My silent storm of sharp fear
Filling up with tears

A silent rainstorm
Eating away at my mind
My rainstorm of lies
Sometimes the rain never leaves.
I was red,
I was ******,
fear and desperation

drove me to self hatred
and I hid from the world
and loathed the high expectations

"You should be perfect
like the stars in the sky
not lost and broken

like a cracking china doll
you should be gold
and shining

so paint over the red
replace it with white
the same pale as a pill

a bottle filled to the brim
with many a fix
but once you're fixed

It's hard to learn
how to feel again
cause if you're perfect like the stars

why feel anything anymore?
e m p t y
I am afraid.
I won't hold back,
My heart lies in peices
And there are scars on my back
My fears are irrational
And my tears are disposable
I'm broken in so many ways
That if I could count them
I'd fall into the haze
That is fear
And I'm afraid
That I would never come back.
Fear, consume or be consumed
The night is pitch black
with bright afterthoughts of stars
you regret the dawn
I've been to hell
And why I stayed
Is something I can't explain
I don't know.
My answer was always the same
And I'd stay, oh I'd stay,
I'd get sick, and you'd complain
Saying that I'll always be that way
And I remember trying every day
Begging you, and pleading for change
But you, you never did change
And all that you ever, ever would say
Was "Why did I take you,
Why do I have you, even to this day?"
And I'm sorry to say
That the answer stays the same
Because you mother dear,
You despise change
And I guess you would say
That I am the change
The unexpected sick girl
That sad little girl, that you let stay
And you had yet to discover
That no one stays the same
Even the little sick girl
You thought that you could raise
And I'm sorry if I've realized
That the things you said
They only caused me pain
But I hope you don't change
I hope you sit and stay
As you watch that little sick girl
Go out and make herself a new name.

Watch your poor little sick girl, watch her become everything.
The first time I saw someone go
it was someone I didn't know
pale and sickly the sun sets
breathing with a tight chest
quick as a flash
that life didn't last.

The second time someone left me
I'll remember the colors in my dreams
"When you love someone sweetie
they'll always be leaving"
I might have lost my head
in all of that white and red.

The last time someone went away
was when my skies turned gray
crying tears like ashes
dripping from my lashes
I close my eyes to find
who waits for me, on the other side.
why do I feel like I have to remind you to love me?
what will it take this time?
repeated calls?
a double text?
and you remember that I exist
when I wait
eagerly for you to so much as look at me
what do I have to do
for you to be as invested as I am
to have a single thought of me
sometimes it feels like
your love is just a tiny candle flame
in the light of my heart's sun
my love swallows me whole
but to you,
I feel that
I am just an afterthought
I feel like
A novelty
A trinket
and yet I love you so much
it hurts
I distinctly remember
One day in the end of April
One minute
One second
Of laughter
And mockery
Three girls
One with scars
On her wrists
And the other two
With cheshire grins
Chanting and mocking
"Oh little girl?"
"Do you want to die?"
"Why didn't you finish the job?"
Leering smirks and wild eyes
And I
I remember
Looking at my scars
Looking at my wrists
Asking myself
If it ever ends
Or if it ever begins
And then I stood up
I stood and I looked
At the girl with scars
I took her hand
We walked away.
I wish I could have done more.
it's my job.
to make it in life
it's my job.
to turn your wrongs into rights,
it's my job,
and I will shoulder your dishonor,
because I am your daughter.
Like a sheep bred for slaughter,
I will always be your daughter.
substantial breakable quiet, the moon
shimmers above, a great beacon of tranquility
the night whispers a hidden new tune
and hides its face in an attempt at humility
quickly the sound is gone too soon
a misty white evening
with boats on the bay
the water churning, until it is gray
an empty stillness weaving
the tapestry of the night
a multitude of dreams, and quiet hearts
the living hold breath, at the magnificent sight
because of the silence, the mind can't help but spark
we are a simple people, it is with the absence of sound
Our scholars and our work, have become renowned
in the beginning, there was silence and today there still is,
we cannot live without the quiet, unbearable though it is.
I don't know what this is honestly.
a poet
is a poet
we whisper empty verses
and live inside our dreams
we sit on our ceilings
and sip honeyed tea
we bend over backward, to take it all in
and channel our feelings
a poet writes to remind themselves
that they are still breathing
not all poets feel the same way
but at least they're still feeling..
a poet is a poet
and all poets feel
but not all of them hurt,
not all of them burn,
some are happy
some are sad
some mourn what they wish they had
others look forward
and occasionally look backward
for something inspiring,
something electric
a universe of words
stitched into poet skin
sweet sweet poet sin
where does a poet fit in?
-one of my older drafts-
Poetry comes at the end of the day
When the lights are turned low
And the sun goes away

A poet writes best in the mid-afternoon
With birds in the trees
and mud on the boots

A poet rises in the morning
Even if it might be storming
Oh we write in the rain, if it be pouring

A poet thinks in the evenings
Because we write better when dreaming
And because sometimes
it's better than sleeping

A poet cherishes every part of their day
Beacause each one is never the same.
Writing poetry means you can leave the ground
And never have to come back down
I sometimes see you,
Your face lingers in my mind,
Eyes of leaves and snow,
Your colors haunt my pale heart,
I think I miss the autumn.
I saw your eyes
and it was like they were the sun
shining through with autumn gold
you were beautiful
but now
all I see
is rotting leaves
Oh I dreamt that you were beside me
so I held you close as can be
I remember the sweet things you whispered
"I love you, I need you, I'll never leave you"
oh a sweet dream it was,
I've held it locked in my heart,
and when I wake up to empty air
I reimagine the illusion once again.
You were a beautiful illusion.
I hope you don't mind
If I paint you on my heart
Seal you on my skin
Because you are beautiful
And I love to paint beautiful things
And I love to paint imperfections
So I'll paint you on my mind
I'll sketch you on my arms
So I can have a peice
Of the beautiful thing
That is you.
Keep on being a beautiful thing.
The beautiful thing that is you.
I am not afraid of death
he has waited so long
and when I see him
my heart wails.
Oh bittersweet death,
and friend
you wait so patiently for me,
when is it my end?
When the lies blow in the wind
as the scarlet curtains close
the whispers echo
bitter forgotten memories and sins
murky like bruised skin
and as darkness strikes the final blow
draped in soft black and blue
my death says hello.
My head hides in my hands
And I don't want to see
The glares, the stares,
The way you all look at me,
The fear and the hate
Both taste bittersweet,
And with my heart in my hands
I'm ready to leave.
Some things terrify me.
Silently I wait
looking out on a dark sky
peering through black glass

Black glass , sharp and bright
clear broken sentences and sky
all the darkest black
Sometimes the sky is black.
A child was borne from a woman who was once very bright
When she entered this world, the mother's hair was dark as night
You could say that she was changed, after she had me
Her so cruel and dark, how couldn't I see?

With eyes so clouded and a sickly sweet smile she lies
To herself, to everyone around her, none the wise
Her child hating to come home because of what might wait there
That fake smile will be gone, and that black soul laid bare.

What happened, how did she become this way?
Staring at her child with a smile once bright as day
Is it my fault the child wonders, and just what could it mean?
Will my soul turn just as black, so unable to be seen?

Will I hide myself forever out of the fear of what I could be?
A heart so dark and hated that I would bury it deep
Never looking in the mirror because I'm afraid that I'll see
Hair as dark as night and a smile that's black and bleeds.
a tasteless empty word
like numbness of the fingers
like numbness of the tongue
a numbness of heart
and false plastic lungs
bland face
bland skin
bland stomach
and bland eyes
wax satisfaction
in a false candle pose
wax candle prose
by plain poet hands
I am a wax figurine poet
who writes
but bland
Looking and
peering at
a blank slate
on a blank wall.
Free of light
and hope,
oh that cerulean blue!
Paint on me won't you?
So I might not be so blank?
Cover me in colors and places
the beautiful and the unseen.
with aquamarine and scarlett
with the dark hues of a night sky
with the gray of a coming storm
with feelings and love
and that crimson fire of hope!
so I might not feel so alone?
A blank slate no more!
Ah sweet boredom, a beautiful thing
Oh what ease boredom does bring.
Oh the silence of thoughts that are dead
All perilous thoughts hang on a thread
From tired lips these words do spill
Aching and empty, lacking thrill
Boredom does not loosen it's ties
To leave instead would be wise
A little bored today. A little tired today.
The beginning of
something beautiful
something brand new.

Electric blue skies
charcoal etched into my palms
the birth of new dreams.
Everything starts from somewhere.
I'm tired of words
words exhaust me.
they hurt and scar
they heal
and ****
they batter
and they burn,
they sing
and float
they free you
and are an outlet
for hate.
for fear.
for life.
I may tire of words
but they will never tire of me
Words are an exausting freedom
They call me a broken youth,
Cuz' I've got no guilt
Because I don't cry, no, I don't weep.

I've got no heart, just tin, and steel.
They call me a broken youth,
Cuz' I don't laugh, no I'm not sweet.
Instead, I fight with tooth and claw,

I've got no fear, just dust, and dreams.

They call me a broken youth,
Cuz' I don't mourn spilled milk,
One mistake can't break me.

I've got no time, just anger and lies.
They call me a broken youth,
Cuz' I'm a faulty piece of machine,
Kind of a waste, run out of steam.

I've got no purpose, but that's ok.
You can call me that,
Because it's a fact.
this broken soul doesn't look back.
most of our feelings,
they are dead,
and they are gone.
catch your breath
on cherry tree air
swallow rose bush thorns
bright as a flame
so much
like a
sinking paper boat
inside your eyes,
like seeing you
inhale the brightest sky,
the way you
catch your breath
on cherry tree air,
makes me smile
spin sweet words
on spider silk,
"you are my one and only
because you,
are you."
breathe in the cherry tree air.
because someone, somewhere, loves you.
Quiet splashes on dank tiles.
Sharp inhale.

Un-lock the stall.
Stare in the mirror.
Scrub those imperfections away.

Purged, you walk out.
Head held high.
Dying on the inside.
Not breathing.

Attempting to swallow,
but you just can't.
So you grip your neck,
and choke.
Curled up under the pounding drops
guilty tears under cold water
knees to chest gasping
heartbeat beginning to falter
saved from the cold
looking into eyes
so worried and pained
stretched so wide
were you ever ok?
panicked gasps
grip so tight
and steadfast
Do not be ashamed
Of your imperfections,
Of your fear, and your guilt
Even roughest concrete can catch the rain
The smallest peices of sky,
And embrace it, along with the pain
That comes with catching others
The scraping of hands
And the skinning of knees,
The rain falls fresh
And the concrete
Cradles the tears
In rough palms,
Our own tears
Other's tears
And the rain
Nature and man meeting
The fear and the calm intertwining
To create
and rain.
The roughest concrete was made for the rain.
Rain on window
Window on rain
I want to taste the rain
Behind the glass
But the rain never lasts
And all I can see is the dark
Only dark and rain
And I can't help but be afraid
Of what waits outside
Behind the blurred water
That drips down my windowpane.
I've been staring at the rain, maybe too much.
day one on the pill
is narrow and deep
I can't seem to sleep
and I can't seem to eat
my dreams are empty
and the future is bleak
so maybe that's why
my pills taste so sweet
The beginning of a short series of poems written
following my journey through writing
and antidepressants.
Cigarette smoke
And cloudy skies
Gray roses
And bitter iron
Cracking wood
And silver rain
Faded sunshine
And worn leather
They all remind me
Of someone
That I'm afraid
I have forgotten about.
I wonder where my mind went.
don't worry
                     about me,
                                           I'm just a little
                                                                a little thin
                                                a little sharp
                     handle me with care
                                                      but trust
                       I'm as strong as bulletproof glass
                                                                          but you,
                                    get to see me when I shatter,
                                                                        when I crack,
                                          and you see me
                                             when I break..
in a delicate mood today,
I feel so breakable
My heart bleeds
and red gets on my hands
it drips from my fingers
falls from my mouth
and when I touch you,
my blood stains.
I miss your vibrant blues
but it's not safe to be around me
I might hurt you,
I could never forgive myself
if you turned red like me
so I pushed you away
built up a shield,
and hoped that you would hate me
but when I look up
I still see you
smiling at me
like I'm not a sickness
like I deserve to be happy
and I am surprised
to see myself
smile back
My heart is a sickness, please keep your distance.
do you see color
in the darkest of skies
do you imagine
a place of safety
in the depths of the mind
or do you see nothing at all
don't you wonder?
I see it all
your eyes
the other side
with your mind
you have a gift
a kind of sight
yes, quite a find
see the world,
see the night
become like I am
become the wise,
who own third eyes
see the sky,
for what it is
“He who wonders discovers that this in itself is a wonder.”
-M. C. Escher
Oh I'll see you in my dreams
a wildly beautiful fantasy
your smile
your laugh
every beginning
every end
and every illusion
I can't forget you.
orange and soft leaves
like golden beautiful things
like shining new dreams

sweet cold frosted glass
like cold frosted broken things
cold cold broken dreams

clear like a moonbeam
or other bright empty things
sweet like empty dreams
The more I think about it the more it hurts
the twisting and warping of someone else words
no wait, you're too young
but pay your bills, work all night
and I DECIDE whether you are right
go to work, go to bed
listen to me, you're not an ADULT yet,

I was an adult when I was 12
I talked like you, I dressed like you
hoping to make you proud
I was good, never made a mistake,
worked hard, had no breaks
and still, you tell me to change
change and change and change
be happy, be young
but don't go outside
don't make friends
work hard until you eventually die
trapped in a self-made prison your whole **** life

there was no coming of age or birthdays
only disappointed looks and dismay
I will never get those years back
to just be a kid
and be happy

Time flies when you're having fun
so, time only flies when you're young.
What do I have to do to be happy again?
Eat your fears
Make them sweet
Add them to your dessert
Ready to eat

Devour your doubt
Swallow it like a bitter pill
Sip it with your liquor
Untill you've had your fill

Taste your temptation
Boil it in a ***
Try it with a side
Flavor with a pop

Eat your fears
Untill they are all gone
Eat too much, and you'll be sick
But who says you have to stop?
A poem for fun.
I'm feeling a little hungry today.
I think the wind
Stole the stars from your eyes
Because your smile is a
Distant memory,

And now all I am is lonely.
Writers block,
One of my poem drafts.
apple tree
don't mourn me
from your grassy hilltop
you can touch the sky for me
cry apple shaped tears
when I cannot,
you will feel
and I will not.
that is alright
dear apple tree,
you instead
will feel for me,
together we will watch the sky
in this garden of planted lies
I'm sorry that you grew here Tree
but this is what you were meant to be.
an empty,
peace offering.
"If it gets really bad, we'll get out."
a mutter of false reassurance
from parent to child
from person to person
whispered at night
in a variety of situations
when a scared child
has lost all your patience
It is a whisper in the daytime
stemmed from fear
a nightmare, a sound,
that you can't quite hear
given like a gift
over to gullible hands,
yes, turn a deaf ear
pretend you can't hear
the screams of the innocent,
And he sharp scent of fear.
Drop the false niceties
And accept that you are afraid,
Because fear is what lets us,
Live another day.
Spilled soda
Sticky on the carpet
Red and glaring
Watching me.
So I scrub
So I clean
But it doesn't go away
So I scrub
So I scream
And I watch the stain
And it watches me back.
A never-ending cycle of
and then I look down
at where I have been cleaning
and I see that my hands are bleeding
that the blood is not my own
and then I start screaming
I might be insane,
or sick of the mind,
but my nightmares,
don't always happen at night.
· *   .  ˚    .
I no longer feel
· *   .  ˚    . the pen in my hand
the itch in my fingers · *   .  ˚    .
Has slipped through my grasp
⋆ * . ✵ +   · *   .  ˚    .   . * ✧
Why has my heart
my soul
stopped speaking to me
· *   .  ˚    . I guess you could say
I've lost all my feeling · *   .  ˚    .
✺  . . ✫  * ✵ .  ˚    · ✵
I've gone blind
· *   .  ˚    . while still seeing
devoid of touch · *   .  ˚    .
✫  ✦ ✵   ✦ . ·         ✵   . ✧✵ *     
perpetually reaching
· *   .  ˚    . for something
for anything · *   .  ˚    .
. · *   .  ˚    .              ✫         · .       ✧ ⋆  
· *   .  ˚    . to let me
feel again · *   .  ˚    .
· *   .  ˚    .Is that star looking at me?
Or is it avoiding me? · *   .  ˚    .
(Heize – Star)
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