Abandoned, left for self-determination.
Betrayed, sacrificed to inner demons.
Obliterated, a mind shattered beyond recognition.
Misheard, a brutal display of unspoken needs.
Iridescent, veiled feelings in one’s mind.
Nocturnal, midnights are the coldest.
Afterlife, we all get two.
Bent, once admired.
Lies, questionable.
Exasperated, done.

She is a Writer.
She writes of things that help others.
She writes for freedom.
She writes for fun.
Her style is unique in it's own right.
Her pens all drained.
Her thoughts expressed.
Not by violence.
Nor by explosion of the voice.
Just by paper, through pen.
She writes for friends.
She writes from life.
She writes for anyone who stops by.
She is a Writer.
An idea not at all new, but still as rare as ever.

I'm malleable, new dough.
I'm stained, old clothes.
I'm tainted, old soul.
I'm crashing, my life.
I'm thriving, my mind.
I'm something, nothing.
I'm safe, unfold the debate.
I'm happy, let the tears flow.
I'm grateful, surely this you know.
I'm disrespectful, to me we see different sides.
I'm thankful, soon we will all die.

At night I dream of hugging you.
Kissing you gently.
Keeping you warm during winter.
Dressing up lazily during the summer.
Laughing through the day.
Taking care of one another through our darkest days.

You're my aspirin.
My bottle of *****.
I get drunk off of your body.

You're a candle on fire.
You're the sway of the ocean.
A beautiful masterpiece.
When I wake up and you're not beside me.
I start to think out loud.

"This is because of society."
Nothing is wrong with this.
I only wish to cuddle you.
Make sure you feel loved.

I need you to know I care, that I would never leave you.

You're so cute when you have that messy hair....

You're the love of my life!
People are far too rude when it comes to these things.
No one even stops to think.....
If you can love a boy.
Then why can't I love one too?

When can I reach you?
A separate land.
A place unknown to our universe.
When can I feel you?
Your sweet embrace.
The tender feel of your hair.
When can we meet?
A longing; forgotten by man, unrivaled by lust.
When can we kiss?
The kind images projecting into my eye.
The stories I make in my mind.
When can I stop?
The barriers, walls separating our two kinds.
You are nothing but an image on a screen...
Yet you mean so much to me.