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Grace Pickard Nov 2015
It's when you lie down
stare into the darkness
and only see the shadows
That you know you've seen the light
Grace Pickard Sep 2015
You say "you don't know her
She's brilliant
she's understanding
She's the best person I've ever met
she's my hopes
my dreams
A fantastic character

I hate to always be the bearer of truth,
But, I've read her cover to cover
She's shallow and superficial
She puts up a facade of a unique individual and yet she's just within the boundary of normalcy.

I've examined all of her (superfluous) pages of work
And they only skim the surface of humanities skin
Circling around the moles and scars that pucker truth-
Brail for the the blind

I've dug deep within her words and read between each space bar
And there lies no feeling- no emotion...
Sheer unintended apathy

Still-With many attempts:
She doesn't capture the essence of regret or sorrow
She merely spits at its feet
And it shows
Because the pain she displays vanishes
From her readers
From the pages
From the words
From the letters
From the simple spaces
From the idea itself

And yet this somehow captivates you
Yet unbeknownst to you- you are not regret, nor are you sorrow,
You are simply embodying what she barely grasps in hopes to find what lies beneath for yourself

But you're burrowing into someone who hasn't yet lived or loved-
Who can't describe the burning bubbles that pop in your eyes from the tears of contempt
Who can't fathom deflation of breath in your shallowing lungs, nor the dam constricting your veins' blood at loss

She can't break down completely with you dangling along
Keeps you just within reach to describe something she encounters
Something she caused
Something she can never embody  because  her "emotions" are a half lie:A secure defense
For power over others
Jumbly mumbly not humbly
Grace Pickard May 2015
******* in the life surrounding me through a coffee stirrer
Gulping up what I can whilst I drift away
i am drowning in my own lungs
Pay attention to my heart beat
Conundrum- no sleep
I panic
i must be having a heart attack
Close eyes open eyes close eyes
Blink I can't sleep
Heavy bags
Heavy mind
****** nose
Get out of bed
All awake

Lights on
Bzzz flicker flicker
Lights off

Dog scratch
No time to relax
Awake open gate
Curl up in corner doze off
Dog bark
Sister coughed
Wide eyed
Anxious cries
Door opened
Worry for my life
Grab my mace
Dog runs inside
Lock the door
Crawl on the floor
Lights on
Remain awake
Skim finger tips
Ponder life
Freak out
Pass out
Grace Pickard Apr 2015
Enveloped with pine-
Stretched across statelines:
Beauteous blue upon envious emerald
Pooled amongst royal white mountains
Adorned with grey jewels of centuries
Emitting sweet, earthy aroma
She caresses the land.
Mother to lakes hidden by her red fir,
Provider to the fiery yellow cress
Hydrant for all animals alike.
M(ama) Rose keeps a chary eye
on her joint creation:
The provider, the mother,
The revered, grandiose puddle
is threatened by scarcity.
The royal white mountains,
Remain royal- but lack frost,
And thus the water retreats
Shriveling back 13 feet from shoreline
This once sacrosanct lake---

Keep Tahoe Blue?
Keep Tahoe Wet.
Climate change is not a myth. Sacred places are being destroyed and diminished. All of earth is divine. The world needs everybody's help to counter the suffering, don't lose hope and keep action.
Grace Pickard Mar 2015
Longing for convulsions and cacophony
The brain desires outlet-
Outlet for the hopelessness of mortality
Against knowledge of disappearance amongst you
And the ultimate disappearancs of one self
Which keeps you voiceless- a prisoner to your dying flesh
Without an outlet for the hopelessness of mortality
And thus hopelessness of mortality becomes an outlet of the captivated mind
mt great grandmother recently died and now I feel surrounded by so many of my deceased relatives and friends that it scares me of my own mortality and also of the loss of my individuality.
Grace Pickard Mar 2015
As my mind goes crazy
My clock beats faster
And the dam protruding from my face can't hold back the Red Sea any longer.
Everything that was once pure becomes stained
Stained with my sorrow
Stained with my love stations ooze

And in the midst of all of this insanity I start to question whether my body even wants to feel whole heartedly sad.
And yet it's my wish to be numb,
But my desire of honesty
And love gives no allowance for
Feeling nothing.
Grace Pickard Mar 2015
Daintily- swirling in pockets of clarity
Fragments that once roamed alongside me
are left to decompose
Unforseeing crystal ***** of bones,
Floating like petals of disdain,
Meet others alike with steel crunch
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