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Why do negative people
Have a problem for
Every solution
Many are the memories
but too few are the memories
that I can still feel.
 May 2016 Maple Mathers
summer
on the verge of tears,
i try to help a friend,
on the verge of tears,
you are my only end,
on the verge of tears,
i can't do this anymore,
on the verge of tears,
i know i haven't won the war,
on the verge of tears,
your in my mind again,
on the verge of tears,
i feel all this pain,
on the verge of tears,
i will always love you,
on the verge of tears,
you didn't love me and i knew,
on the verge of tears,
i thought i was past this,
on the verge of tears,
i miss your kiss.
 May 2016 Maple Mathers
Grace
Aimee
 May 2016 Maple Mathers
Grace
In the fairy tale, Aimee was bad at heart,
a pretty shell that promised a pearl and
when cracked open, gave grains of sand
instead. It scratched the surface of the eyes
and misled; Aimee was just one of those pretty
Jezebels, cruel within, decorated without.
Her sister Aurore was the heroine,
a fatalist, who sighed her philosophy:
'What will be will be' and her patience and
good heart tugged her towards the coincidences
that always favour the light.
But Aimee was driven away by her own wickedness,
and had not the luck of the good.
All Aimee had was the face.

These are the kind of stories I am tired of because
I want to tell you that when Aimee was just a
small girl, she sat and watched her mother scrutinise
her appearance in the mirror. She watched as she
painted her face and knew then that she was just a painted
beauty, a kind that easily peels off. How little it
mattered though, as her mother smiled at her jewels.
Painted or true, her mother had succeeded through
beauty. So Aimee saw no good in the kind and the patient,
who suffered and accepted their suffering. She chose an
ambition called wickedness and she wore it like a petticoat
beneath the blue ballgown. Aimee was the kind of girl
to get what she wanted. Her mother had taught her
that her face was the only kind of fatalism she could follow.

I am tired of these fairy tales that give undefined shapes.
I'm tired of the dichotomy between the good and the bad.
I'm bored of the light always finding their happily ever after.
Just tell me the story of the dark and tell it properly.
I woke up at 5am and decided to write this... not my best, but it's a character poem, from the perspective  of my character Amelie (Amy) inspired by the fairy tale Aurore and Aimee
i need to learn that it gets harder
and harder
to rid of the toxins
others call love
because our stars will forbid to cross
and you will never explore my galaxy
for the endless depths of feeling
i have for you
 May 2016 Maple Mathers
summer
I knew i shouldn't have gotten close,
shouldn't have risked everything,
to make you happy,
to be there for you,
only to have you hurt me,
it started like a dream,
a girl like you,
confident and willing to talk to me,
despite my looks and my thoughts about myself,
i remember the days we spent,
sitting and talking,
laughing and smiling,
talking about art,
about flowers,
about our different taste in music,
it's okay because i wanted to be near you,
i wanted you to know me,
like me,
but then things changed,
you changed,
your jokes began to get more real,
too painful for me to bear,
i started to get upset,
feel things i never felt before,
you,
you shouldn't be having this effect in me,
you,
i love you,
a little too late for that,
a little too late for everything,
you moved on,
did i mean anything to you?
did you love me?
the way i loved you,
did you feel the same?

i guess not,
you moved on,
as if i was nothing but a chapter,
in your book,
i tried,
i tried to move on,
soo badly i wanted something more,
than to feel this craving for you,
and to know,
i couldn't have you,
i tried to listen,
to the other girls,
tried to take my mind away from you,
but it always,
always came back to
you,

i heard them,
but i wasn't listening,
all i could really hear,
was your voice,
and the last thing you said to me,
sorry,
a stupid little word,
sorry,
i ****** up,
sorry,
i wasn't enough,
sorry,
you had to leave,

what's the point anymore,
of anything,
of caring for you,
only to have you use me,
what's the point,
on wanting love again,
wanting someone else,
for them to do the same thing,
find someone better,
leave me,
without telling me,
and break my heart,

yes,
you broke my heart,
yes,
it will take a while,
yes,
i still think about you,
yes,
this is all too painful,

i message you,
i waited and waited,
for your reply,
my eager little heart,
thinking maybe you will say something else,
but no,
all you said was sorry,
i thought that maybe,
i would feel something from it,
feel closure,
let it go,
but it didn't,
these feeling won't go away,
and i need them to go away,
please,
can you just,
go away,

I knew i shouldn't have gotten close,
shouldn't have risked everything,
to make you happy,
to be there for you,
only to have you hurt me,
i wrote this poem on request from a friend. he was going through heartbreak. we share the same story, the same pain, the same ache and desire for the person who left us. i thought i would help him get it out of his system, so i wrote him this poem. but i didn't think it would have a huge effect on me. but it did. so here it is, our shared heartbreak story.
If I were to run, where would I go?
Who would I see?

Would I be safe and sound?
Or in danger risking my life?

Would I still be me?
Or would I create a new identity?

Would I still love you?
Or would you not exist?

Would I still have these scars?
Or would fresh ones appear?

Who would I be?
Where would I go?
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