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 Jul 2019 Marii
mom, when will the day come that you will learn to accept that there is a man that can love me too?
 Jul 2019 Marii
 Jul 2019 Marii
ting is
your           life
thro             ugh
a ne           edle
and         if
you sew
 Jun 2019 Marii
Penguin Poems
If want was water,
I would be drowning, my head under completely
and my oxygen quickly depleting.
If confusion was cold,
My fingers would be numb and I wouldn't even
have a coat to ward off the freezing.
If youth was you,
It would be slipping away by the second,
And I can't get a hold to stop it.
my air is gone,
I'm shivering to the bone,
and can't keep a hold on.
But, this is only a poem:
I know I'm not suffocating, subzero, or slipping.
But I can't help but feel like the more I write,
the farther I get from reality
and the closer I get to metaphor mortality.
 Dec 2018 Marii
Ally Ann
A friend asked me
how to be a writer.
I wanted to say,
lock yourself in a room,
scream until you have
a poem and no voice.
Open your veins and bleed
until you know that your bones
are pure words and sorrow.
Act as if you slit your own throat
and all you can bleed
are your own regrets
and all of the darkness
you boxed up for inspiration.
Write your mom a letter,
tell her you're leaving
and you won't be back for awhile
Because being a writer is traveling
through all seven layers of Hell
and denying anything is wrong.
Forget loving yourself
when all you have is a pen and paper
fused to your wrist
and Jesus is tapping at your skull
saying turn back now.
Warn the neighbors that if they smell burning
It's just your soul
clawing at the front door trying to get in.
Learn how to be alone.
Learn how to lose everything you have
in order to feel release,
learn how to only feel deceased
from now on.
A friend asked me
how to be a writer.
All I said was
 Sep 2018 Marii
She sits alone in her room,
Listening to the sound of raindrops pounding on the window,
Demanding to be let in.
She cries in silence, for the pain she bares is too much,
She laughs with friends, flirts, jokes, alive with joy,
But in the end it's when she's all alone..
She chokes..
The crushing weight of dread, loneliness, and sorrow stab at her chest..
She wonders, when can she rest…
The voices are upon arrival, telling her there's no survival;
She pulls herself closer to hide the demons within..
But how can you drown them if they know how to swim?
‘Dunk them under’, they say, ‘smother them’;
‘How can I do that’ , she asks, ‘If they are inside me?’
As the rain pours louder, her heart shatters like glass,
The sharp edges cutting fast,
She asks herself,’How much longer can I last?’
As she takes the final slash
 Sep 2018 Marii
You say you love me and that I am everything you want and make you truly happy
I cannot tell if you are trying to convince me of those words

Or yourself
Short but hey lookey here freeverse! Shocked? I decided to make it a point to write more poetry this way and make myself grow as a writer.

— The End —