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Lyda M Feb 2018
He could see the notes.

The colors they leave behind,
The presence of their warmth.

They danced before his eyes,
Whispering their sweet melodies.

Laughter underneath his fingers,
Coaxing them out from their hiding place.

Music was his muse
In the ungodly hours of the night.

She danced with him under the moonlight.

Her voice a soothing lullaby
Quieted the demons in his mind.

And yet

the voices were
too loud.

Fear took hold of
his gut.

Guilt tripped him in
his feet.

He begged Darkness

"Leave me alone."

Shadows wrapped around
his wrists.

Music grew quiet.

Silence reigned
like fermata
on an
indefinite rest.

He closed his eyes.
He covered his ears.
He shut the lid.

The music stopped.
A musician without music is as good as dead
Lyda M Feb 2018
"How can you make this world a better place?"

They ask.

She smiles sweetly and says,

"A world without me in it."
Lyda M Mar 2018
Love was beautiful
until hateful words came

There was nothing she could do
the child covered her ears and closed her eyes

and watched her world
crumble around her

Love faded between them
sides were taken
and she was torn in the middle like a seam

The concept of divorce was foreign
Like a situation found only in movies

And once it happened
the happily ever afters
never came true

If only childhood innocence lessened the pain
but she understood and that hurt worse

And what was worse
was that a family of four
was a family no more
it's been five years or so, but it still hurts. I still miss the us. Now I can never have that back
Lyda M May 2018
and your music was the sweetest
to my ears and to my heart

but your soul was the darkest
when people drift apart

minds spiralling down to madness
like an eternal roundabout

and maybe in the end
that's who we really are

people with minds unbound
spoken in the language of
music over black and white notes
as someone who love(d) you, I might not have gone. But as someone who plays music as well, I did. and what a job well done. what beautiful music. you were wonderful. and I'm sorry I will have to write this here instead of saying it to you up front.
Lyda M Jul 2018
And doubts have dashed
And murmurs gone
And frowns have turned downside up

To smiles
And heart
And laughter
And newfound friends
And applause
And gratitude

As miles of
Hard work

Have rewarded the sweetest
Not of gold but of

a musical gift
Written after we won a music competition. Some people were salty about losing. I'm just glad all my hard work didn't go to waste.
Lyda M Mar 2018
I saw you again today
your hair's grown out

I wonder how you're doing
although I'm the one who never asks

I don't know how we connect
But I always know where you are

And with that
I run away

You sat beside today
And I tried to hide my smile

Although I know there was pain
You tried to hide in your eyes

We finally talked today
after months of silence

And despite the distance between us
It was as though it was never there

I left early again
And you hid behind round glasses

We pretended not to see each other
despite the fact...

That all I wanted to do
was look at you and smile
and of course, I still miss him. Each time we meet. Each time we leave. Each time we pretend not to see.
Lyda M Dec 2018
Music – she is my muse

She sings to me

Her lilting voice reaching for the heavens

And yet

It falls short as she aches for

Love – tis heart breaking and bittersweet

It is a tug of war

For the melody

Who it sings for

A back and forth,

Undecided, disconcerted

Forlorn and desolate

Madness, determination

But she is beckoned

back, restrain

Don’t hold back

[I] can’t hold back

[I’m] trying

And yet

[I’ll] fall short

“Why? Oh, why?”

Can one not sing?

Shall the muse be only thought,

Ever taught?


She sings and sings.

To fill in the desire

Of a passion unrestrained

(with restraints)

She is ineffable,

And only in silence

Can she be heard.
Beethoven Violin Concerto in D Major, Op.61 - first movement
Lyda M Mar 2018
And I paint on skin
So I don't have to cut

And I paint roses with leaves
So blood can look beautiful

And I paint thorns black
So they bite but don't hurt

And I paint on skin
So there's no pain inside
I'm scared of pain but I want to let it out. And when music and words don't work, I paint myself.
Lyda M Mar 2018
But of course

every poem
every note
every line

was never for me
And no matter how I wish it so, it never will be
Lyda M Feb 2018
Maybe it's not us
being scared of
not finding
The One

Maybe it's us
being scared that
we're not The One
for them

And so we leave
And so we leave, claimin that nothing had ever happened between us
Lyda M Mar 2018
And so I grew cold
And ran away
And ignored

And I closed my eyes
And shut my heart
And rejected
Lyda M Feb 2018
If I were to die
Let my ashes burn
Until not a speck is left
Of my existence
Lyda M May 2018
and the puzzles don't fit like pieces
like the ones you'd wish on a chess board

And life is just a gamble we never wanted to play
so music is the last resort to staying

In a kaleidoscope of broken pieces
I hope we'll make masterpieces

of all these broken parts
life is still a game of snakes and ladders I can't understand. and the thing with games is that I always lose
Lyda M Aug 2018
Music is a drug
I have overdosed in
Until I grew sick
Of melodies
Lyda M Mar 2018
And I walk on this earth
With footsteps light
Like butterfly legs

And I love you
With passion that soars
Like butterfly wings

And I bid you farewell
With my lips on your cheek
Like butterfly kisses
Lyda M Feb 2018
If the world is round

Why would there need to be an East and  a West?

Why would there need to be borders and lines?

Why would there be a need for a divide?


Is it a word created for


Is it a word created for


There would be no such thing as

Why are there notions like these

Why would there be a need for these

If things were different

Would now be different

Not better

Not worse

Just different
Apparently I'm still not over it
Lyda M Feb 2018
Up and down, play keys in forte,
Faster and faster, only by ear heard.
Cantabile, fortissimo, piano, fine,
A variety of gloom and love in tone.

Echoes all over the wall you feel,
Majestic and grand tells a tale of old.
Vibrato, detache, pizzicato, trill,
Its heartbreaking voice pouring out its soul.

Quiet and smooth, the wind blows through,
Glints of silver, brass, and gold.
Repeat the variation and the solo too,
Then continue at coda big and bold.

Beethoven, Mozart, Handel, Bach,
Music speaks what these quadrants lack.
Lyda M Mar 2018
Hop on a plane
Leave the past
For the skies above

Would I keep sane
Would unfortunes last
In war and peace and love

Watch out for rain
In accurate forecast
The world comes in halves

It waxes and wanes
The moon in skies vast
The light I cannot have
Airport blues
Lyda M Feb 2018
Because you will live forever.

You will exist inbetween the pages of a private notebook.

You will sleep under the pillow with the handwritten poems.

You will live as a black art in the form of words.

But your name will never be mentioned.

Your sideways smile is etched in the mind and cannot be erased.

Your stolen, yet steady gaze is burned within the heart.

Your fingers that produces music from the tips are longed to be held.

But you will never be drawn, only written.

Your voice is the most precious music ever heard.

Your spoken words are poetry decorating the air.

Your laughter sends vibrations through the soul.

But you will not be heard, only imagined.

Despite all these,

You are real. You are here. And here you will stay.

Do not make me fall for you. For if I do, you will live forever. Not only in me, but in others as well.

And if this story will ever be done,

I will close the red, leather-bound notebook

and say,

Until Another Time.
You were my love until you broke my heart. Now you are my muse, and like a masterpiece in galleries, you are locked forever in words.
Lyda M Feb 2018
Skip on forward
Go back one song


Live life in mundane drones
Lyda M Feb 2018
It's a cracked glass bottle
With a few words left for keeps.

Carnival music and fairy lights
Illuminate dreams in restless sleep.

Dreams in abundant occurence
Day dreams at hold.

Don't get carried away
Into your cruel mind's black hole.

The rainy days come
Like white noise of broken television.

Senses play until they bleed
The music is what you've forgotten to envision.

Silence is longer
The language is lost.

In French they would say,
"Avoire une autre langue, c'est posséder une deuxième âme."
Whimsical sketches on late nights when I can't sleep.
Lyda M Feb 2018
I take all these tests
all over the internet

they come back
all the same

they come back

I don't need the tests
I live it

Because they always come back
I had an official diagnosis, but I didn't go to get therapy. I don't have the time or energy or money to get it. And I don't want to make my family worry.
Lyda M Feb 2018
Wishing for you, yearning,
Looking upon you and reading those horrifying words.
Why? Why do you do this to me?
Those five words I dread each time I spend time with you:
“Unable to Connect to the Internet.”
Lyda M Feb 2018
I have not much to say,
but of simple words

and play

on music strings
sounds do sing
of words I cannot say
sometimes, blank outs are the most fun when doing this. I did blank out when asked this entrance question (ha!) well, not much for starters, but it's a start I guess.
Lyda M Feb 2018
Hypothetically speaking

What if I never existed?
Mistakes would not be made.

Hypothetically speaking

What if memories of me would disappear?
Sweeter memories would be made

Hypothetically speaking

What if I never walked this road?
There'd be no need for a disappointment such as I

Hypothetically speaking

What if I was never born?
There'd be no need to live a lie

Hypothetically speaking

When I don't exist
let the stars and moon be the only ones
who remember

I was hypothetically here
Lyda M Feb 2018
Sometime in the future, people might ask me, "Why don't you ever write love stories like you did before?"

I can write about love. I can write stories. But to write love stories...I guess I left that with you.

I don't write love stories because maybe I've broken hearts before I've had my heart broken.

I don't write love stories because maybe I've seen the magical illusion of a happy marriage shatter before it could cast its spell on me.

I don't write love stories because maybe I've seen the falling out of love before the falling in love.

I don't write love stories because maybe all it would be is a sadly ever after.

I don't write love stories because maybe all I'd write about is you.
Excerpt from my red journal entry 15/9/17
Lyda M Mar 2018
There was no need
To stalk her Facebook feed

There was no need
To check his Instagram

There was no need
To search for a relationship status

I just know
I always know
And I'm always right

That you would never be mine
Lyda M Feb 2018
A crackling upon skin

Numbness ******* into the bones

Watching the world, but not really being a part of it

Watching. Watching.

Sinking inside, bringing out a different side to deal with what can't be done

Ears ringing but there is no sound
I'm weird, that I can attest.
Lyda M Mar 2018
I would write sonnets

Of our escapades
On boat rides
Walks through the park
Crossing bridges

I would write stories

Of our late night talks
Your piano blues
Inside jokes
Quiet conversation

I would write poems

Of the space between us
Entwined hands
Closeness of heartbeats
Fingers running on skin

But I am just the writer
And you are my muse
With our tale ending on paper
And here I am writing about him again
Lyda M Apr 2018
And I swallow metaphoric medication
Until they burn down my throat

And similes are like cereal for breakfast
With which I refuse to partake

My words bleed out
Personifying my grief

Hyperbole is too big a mass I can explain
It would take years to finish

Would roses choked in thorns be a symbol of oppression
Or a nature of destruction in beauty

Take me to the emergency room
I'm sick of this language I speak
Lyda M Dec 2018
Pristine white,

Like cathedral spires,

Pierce the skies

There is longing,

For the sky blue

Expanse above

Can you not see?

The love, the yearning

There is so much more

Than what this world

Can offer to one such as you

‘Tis pleasant,

A wonder of quiet

and harmony

Who do you offer

Music to?

Oh, love,

How lovely it

Is to meet you


One cannot comprehend

Such beauty

And these days

Are golden and light

With the fluttering

Of your love

In the form

Of soaring melodies

Beethoven Violin Concerto, Op.61 - second movement
Lyda M Feb 2018
Don't cross the line,
Stay in your little box.

It's dark outside,
Stay in your little box.

Monsters will eat you,
Stay in your little box.

A protection, a barrier, a prison.

Keep close to the corner of the room.

Close your eyes , maybe they won't see through you.

Put on a smile, you're nearing breaking point.

Sleep it off, maybe you don't have to wake up anymore.
And sometimes, self-defense mechanism backfires
Lyda M Feb 2018
How much of it were

How much of it were

When did you ever stop the

My parents, my brother, and
The title joins with the second line of the first three verses
Lyda M Mar 2018
Losing a phone doesn't also mean losing access to the internet

It meant losing feelings
That I had written down

It meant losing words
I had transcribed

It meant losing contacts
And the evidence of late night talks

It meant losing memories
Of piano room privacy

It meant starting over again
When I still had things left
All those saved photos..those Instagram stories..gone.
Lyda M Mar 2018

I've been
crying about
you for
so long

That the pain
had already settled
in my bones

To think that I'd
meet the day that
I was losing feelings
for you

It's as scary as thinking
that you hadn't lied to
me that day when I
selfishly cried and said goodbye
One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

Five paragraphs, each word corresponding to each
Lyda M Jul 2018
The golden hall sings
Of an art that decorates
The spaces of time
Lyda M Jul 2018
Three stand before thee
The silver trophies gleam bright
Ambitions are bared
Lyda M Jul 2018
Music is all but
Perfect; tis a faux concept
In an abstract world
Lyda M Feb 2018
Like a small snowdrop impatient for spring
I searched for love in winter's wing

Silver petals shiver in the cold embrace
Of the warmth of your gentle ways

My roots are embedded deep in the ground
With little company but icy snow around
Lyda M Mar 2018
It's near 2am

I'm thinking of you again
It's not how, it's when
To get over you

It's near 2am

Memories are flooding
Like a tsunami of unwanted

It's near 2am

I close my eyes but I see you
Your eyes, your smile, your voice
Are clear but not true

It's near 2am

Time slows down after midnight
And mind replays the past
Of love that's not quite
Hello insomnia. You bring company I'd rather not have over
Lyda M Feb 2018
And I don't think I will ever escape this deep blue ocean void inside

But I have a canoe and I have an oar.

I'll find land sooner or later.

I just hope I don't give up before then.
Lyda M May 2018
of course he doesn't
miss me

of course he doesn't
think about me

of course he doesn't

How many times do I have to be at war with myself on this?

we both write poetry

But I will never be his muse
Lyda M Mar 2018
And I was a fool to think
You had loved me too

"I only see you as a friend"

There was nothing there
You were never there

And what I thought was true
That something between me and you

Was just as it was
A once upon a dream
A maybe relationship ***** and when he denies it at the end, you're left wondering if everything really happened in the first place
Lyda M Jun 2018
“You do realize you don’t have to keep doing this, you know.”

She knows. Of course, she knows. But there is too much. She cannot stop. She cannot stop until everything is out.

Even if it hurts. Even if it’s trash. Even if no one reads or listens. Even if it makes no sense. Even if it’s all lies. Even if it’s all true. Even if the truth is a lie. Even if the lie is a truth. Even if it is a paradox in and of itself.
Even so.

She writes until she bleeds. The pen is connected to her veins. The ink, her blood. The words, her thoughts.




“You could share the pen, you know.”

She knows. But whoever holds the pen, changes the words. And when words change, worlds change.

Words have power one wishes not to abuse. Not to use. Not to reveal. Not to keep. Words keep secrets the whole world knows.

But like an open book, one would see the words upon the page, but no one would care enough to read the whole book.
everyone is an open book, but not everyone likes to read.
Lyda M Feb 2018
Dear thunder,
Please pass me by,
Because I’m too scared to be just fine.

Yesterday was a beautiful blue day,
And as always,
The sky decides to paint it grey.
Lyda M Feb 2018
Roses are red
Violets are blue
I cut out fake hearts
To give to you

Paper hearts make
Paper cuts
Fingers touch
Lyda M Mar 2018
Keep each thought in every fold,
Line them up with every crease.

Flip them over,
Never let them show.

Don't cut your fingers on the edge,
Paper cuts are small but they hurt the most.

A thousand times over,
A million times bent and lined up.

Pull it apart,
Look at it from afar.

If you had a thousand,
Will your wishes be granted?

If you made a thousand,
Will everything be okay?

Paper wishes on paper cranes,
Let them loose in the breeze.

A million paper cuts.
A thousand paper cranes.
A single wish.
And sometimes, when wishing stars don't work, you can wish on paper cranes
Lyda M May 2018
And I write poetry
With you as my muse

And you write poetry
But I was never yours
I thought I was over you, but apparently not
Lyda M Nov 2018
perfection is something
I cannot attain

and so here I sit

watching time tick away
the hours I could use

but they've all
wasted away
I know there's stuff I need to do. But I just can't get myself to do it. It's not laziness. I've already differentiated the two. I just don't want to do it because it's still not going to be enough.
Lyda M Apr 2018
And I thought I had gotten better. Until a voice spoke up inside my head.

"Wow you ****"

"You were nasty. Why would they stick with you."

"You think you deserve this?"

"Your parents are tired of you. They can't afford you."

"Why are you still alive. The career you chose just burdens everyone."

"You don't even play that well."

"You think anyone would ever keep you? Get off your high horse."

"no one likes you."

"You don't belong here. You should just keep on being a person who *****."
Please make it stop. Go away. I don't know you. Where did you come from. I just want to cry. I thought I was better. And you came like a torrent of nasty words that runs through my bloodstream.
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