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Catrina Jul 2018
There's a hurricane

brewing in my heart.

Any second now, it will burst.

Ready to unleash every inside.

Finally,

Everything I see is crystal clear.

Nothing can keep me from

conquering my fear.

I may not have won every battle.

But I have one this final war.
  May 2018 Catrina
Meera
He doesn't burn photographs
He doesn't join therapy sessions
He doesn't smoke too many cigarettes
Nor he drown himself into alcohol
He scratches his wounds daily
And never let them heal
He doesn't try to get rid of the pain
Instead he let it grow on him
He waters the seed of sorrow with his tears
He feeds it with the manure of old memories
He takes it to sleep with him
And nurtures it in himself
Till the moment when every single drop of his blood gets replaced by this pain
Until his fragile heart can bear no more
And his soul starts overflowing with emotions
That's when he dip his pen into this pain
And empty his heart on a piece of paper
He bares his soul for us to feel
He creates poetry that the world would cherish for centuries to come
That's how true poetry comes into existence
Catrina May 2018
Trapped inside the mind,
Screaming and yelling to get out.
Prevented by the blockade behind the mouth.
Too many words.
Too many thoughts,
swirling  and swimming all around.
Topics of all kinds.
Only to be released by the
bleeding of ink from a pen on paper, scrawling words across the blue lines.
Wanting to voice aloud, cannot find proper phrases.
But placed on paper, the screaming of words mellow, and become coherent.
Unable to be formed in a paragraph, for in the mind if full of rhyme and stanzas.
Tries to wrote for others to understand, but usually writes to clear the mind.
People speak, they are loud or quiet, aggressive or sweet. All able to voice their words aloud.
Not uncomfortable, or scared.
Nor nervous,
Just trying to  sort the swirling and swimmingwords.
Words often
s
       P
I
        R
A
        L
into themselves, always getting smaller,
N
E
V
E
R
stopping or
C
H
A
N
G
I
N
G
.
The mind gets lost within the spirals, trying desperately to
E
    S
        C
            A
                 P
                       E
through the voice.
Always in search of pen and paper, to scratch things down.
Wants to help other, often doesn’t know how to offer.
Has appreciation for those around, yet doesn’t know how to show or say.
Wanting to speak, mind screaming back, saying to stay quiet from years of being told not to speak.
Still unsure how to properly show affection, to family, friends, and significant other.
Cares a lot, struggling to keep pace.
The only comfort, when thoughts are sorted out through the blood of pens staining the white paper.
I come from a very f***** up home.
My father and stepmother treated me as a thing, rather than a child.
They would yell and yell at me, telling me to answer them, then as soon as I try to answer, I would try to answer, then instantly be shut down by being told to shut the hell up.
If I didn't do one little thing, I'd be slapped.
If my niece or nephew did something, it would be put on me.
Everything in this poem, is a problem that was created by them.
When I was still living with them, I would write things down on paper, then burn the paper.

Just a little more about me I guess.
  May 2018 Catrina
zoie marie lynn
and i don't even know if i want to kiss your lips or just your skin
because i'm
     falling
       falling
         falling
           falling
         falling
       falling
     falling
but i don't want to hit the ground again.
are you sure your arms can hold the weight of my love when it's wrapped in wet clothes?
and are you sure it's the best idea to take this where the wind goes?
i'm not yet sure if love is a real thing
it's just a
   beautiful
  fictional
deadly
play,
and you still kiss me like i'm sane
but i know it's all just another game
so don't be surprised if i refuse to participate.
and you're like a
         cynical
           patronizing
             inconsiderate
           impartial
         callous
song,
but your vicious words still gently drag me along.
and i'm not sure if you're really toxic
or it's just all in my head.
because
i love you
love you
ove you
ve you
e you
you
ou
u
or maybe i love when you're in my bed.
there's a difference between someone telling you they love you and them actually loving you
i haven't figured it out yet though
Catrina Apr 2018
Your smile is so captivating.
So sweet, yet with a pinch of mischievousness.
The touch of your hands,
Gentle yet strong.
The sound of your voice, sincere, calming,
inviting, sweet, yet firm.
And eyes that tell a story.
What kind, I have yet to read.
Haven’t gotten close enough.
Not one to approach.
Observing you, from a distance,
able to see your interest
in  someone else.
Disappointment rising,
too late once again.
Catrina Apr 2018
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