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Apr 2020 · 111
Awe
Willow Silvera Apr 2020
Awe
there's a certain
magic in the feeling
of awe and that
one moment where
everything seems
to be brighter
than the ink spilled
past of-                          d a r k n e s s  and-
(hidden misery)
Apr 2020 · 104
30 Seconds
Willow Silvera Apr 2020
If I ever had
a single wish,
I would ask
for 30
cut seconds
half a minute
of nothing
Non-existence
And a trip back
To the stars
An empty desert
And endless blue sky
That odd feeling of
Freedom at last
Because-

Time won’t stop
No matter how hard
I try and force it
I can’t let go of this life
Without the guilt ripping
Me to shreds and
My mind drowning
In my half-finished
Thoughts running
Past my inner self
The one trapped
On an endless path
Flowing with relentless
Wind, eyes wide
Open.
I don’t
Want to die.
Not yet I have
Too many dreams
Passions and
Longings and people
I would not want
To leave behind
I just want to
Not exist
For a time.
I just don't enjoy life anymore...
Apr 2020 · 109
The Meaning
Willow Silvera Apr 2020
For centuries now
the meaning is lost
the meaning of
life/
existence/
everything/
why we still
live.

Maybe there isn't
one or that's
just what we're
supposed to
think?
Apr 2020 · 120
non-existence
Willow Silvera Apr 2020
is it possible
to breathe
but not exist?
are we all just
particles made
of nothing?
Apr 2020 · 109
14 Lines
Willow Silvera Apr 2020
How am I supposed to
Express this monstrous
(beautiful?) feeling
Inside my aching heart in just-
14 lines? 9 lines now
I think about your ocean blue eyes
Every night I feel alone
I need to hear your voice calling
My name to keep myself from going
Insane like the way you move your hands
When you speak oh so passionately about
Everything, the universe, you’re in love
With the world but not with  M E
I love you (?)
Apr 2020 · 99
Ode to Tears
Willow Silvera Apr 2020
Some say they are
a sign of weakness.
Of broken pride and
i n s a n i t y .
But almost
no one
can truly realize
the slight beauty
of a single, falling
tear and the freedom
It brings us.
No one notices that
a small universe
lies in each one
holding stars brimming
With light between
the endless void
of ink.

Tears do not
make us any less
Human,
But more so.
They are an act
of rebellion.
of defiance.
The next step to forever
shattering society’s
stereotypes and laws.
Courage hidden
inside our very eyes.
Emotions aren’t
supposed to be feared.
or buried deep inside
our chests, held in glass bottles.
Or someday they
will overflow and make us
suffocate.
They are to be respected
just like loyalty and love.
Cherished like
old memories.


This is not only
an ode to tears,
but an ode
to the people
who shed them
in the midst of night.
Mar 2020 · 124
Dear Anxiety
Willow Silvera Mar 2020
I do not remember
when you didn't-
hunch over me in class,
building a cage in my mind
(Which became my prison)
Controlling my every move
And softly whispering
lies into my ears

You've kept me
(a barrier from the others)
from making the changes
I desperately-
needed and the decisions
I had to make to
b e  h a p p y ?
What is-
H A P P Y ?
I know the dictionary
definition but not what it
feels like to be
h a p p y.
Because.
Of.
You.

Get out
of my freaking mind
already
I'm going
I n s a n e because I
can't talk to him
or be with them
or even walk normally
In the hallways
with you here.
Just
leave.
A poem about my anxiety, which has ruled over me and my life for so long.
Mar 2020 · 85
Summer Depression
Willow Silvera Mar 2020
The Sun
Is keeping me
Alive.
(Killing me
on the inside)
A flaming candle
In the lonely void
of space
Screaming “SHOULD”
I s h o u l d be
Normal.
Outside.
Having.
Fun.

Instead I am
Crying
(i n d o o r s)
Memories
Racing past
Panic and anxiety
Taking.
Complete.
Control.
Why can I not work
Or speak
To anyone
Why can I not think
Or go outside without
Teary eyes?
My cold skin cannot be shown
To anyone or
Touched by sunlight

So I sit in the silent darkness
Of my room wearing an
Old hoodie and thinking
About
How the summers seems
To last forever and
Why I freaking exist and
....
How can everybody be so happy
All the time
Always smiling
While I'm just
Slowly dying
On the inside.
I guess
The only good thing
That comes out of summer
Are the blooming sunflowers
Surrounded by the smallest sparrows
Growing in the backyard.
Mar 2020 · 168
Oceans Apart
Willow Silvera Mar 2020
We are
Entire worlds
Away from each other
Two different people.
One in love with the other
One in love with
( s o m e o n e  e l s e)
Sailing on oceans
A universe apart.
My sea is stormy
With crashing waves
And endless thunder
Lightning striking
My ship ceaselessly
The waters he sails
Are calm,
Smooth with sweet wind
And the chirping of sparrows.
Because...
White
And
Brown
Are two different colors.
But share the same heart.
For now,
( i t   n e v e r   l a s t s )
We have the same heart.
Writing this made me feel a lot better. Like a weight has been lifted from my chest. :)
Mar 2020 · 93
Library in the Stars
Willow Silvera Mar 2020
In the darkest outlet
of the Universe
A silent corner filled with
deep tenebrosity and
flowing energy
Streaming particles
Omnipresent
A single star flickers

Enter it,
and you shall find
the secrets of the
Cosmos themselves
The stories of every
lost treasure
forgotten memory
uncertain question

You will first see
a claret door
with a golden handle
The Door of Lost Souls
And as you reach out
your (almost)
invisible hand
covered in stardust
and gently wrap your
ghostly fingers
around it
it opens
Soundlessly

Impossibly tall
blue glass windows
leaving nebulous
light in
almost every color
Shelves piled
with brittle parchment
and shelves
stacked with books
ancient as time itself
The bones of the
creatures who once
ran through the stars
and lived in overcast Nebulas
hang from the ceiling
with red string
The walls were once
created from moon dust
and cosmic light

You may stay
(become a
prisoner)
In the library,
learn all the missing
fragments you’ve wondered
About during your
past.
But there is one question
The library cannot ever answer
Will you ever leave?

For there is another door
at the opposite end
of the Library
past the mysterious books
and scrolls covered in dust
The ominous black shapes
drifting in the corners
and dusting the shelves
It is the color
of the darkest ink
with a silver ****
that makes a sound of ringing
bells when you turn it
This is the path
To the afterlife

Some stay in the library
slowly morphing into
the melanoid caretakers
Library ghosts.
And some
move on
To the next life.
When you enter
The Door of Lost Souls
and wander into
this nowhere place
you will have a choice.
Choose wisely.
Tried something new. :)
Mar 2020 · 75
Sideways
Willow Silvera Mar 2020
Lately
I’ve been feeling
Sideways
A black hole
Puncturing
My chest
Devoid of
Emotion
And
Thought
Only the pain
Leaking out of me

I am wearing
A smiling
Japanese mask
With floral
Red markings
Painted on
The Surface
An everlasting
j o y

A war is fought
Within myself
Every night
I try to sleep.
I don’t know
How long this
Will last.
Years and
Centuries and
Forever

I stay awake
Til sunrise
Water
My dying plants
And start
Another day
Exactly the same
As before
Repeat.
Repeat.
Repeat.
I can’t wait
To escape
This place.
I can't wait
For the future.
I wrote this short on time, so forgive me if it isn't he best quality.
Mar 2020 · 90
Ghosts of 1898
Willow Silvera Mar 2020
Together we stand
Our dark faces
Chin up
Solemn eyes
Staring.
Fearlessly.
At the shadows
Of our captors

We are the
Wandering ones
Lingering in
The place
We once called
Home.
Oppressed by
Hate and fear
Forgotten
By time
Our story destroyed
By those who fear it
It is up to the
Living
To tell our tragic tale.
To make sure
Our story
Does not repeat.

We were surrounded by
A sea of white
Specks of brown
And black
Gasping for air
Drowning
We spoke with our
Words and they
Attacked with
Their fists.
Black bodies
Piled up
Drifting on the
Blood filled river
Ice.
      cold .
           water.
The everlasting
Scent of
D e a t h.

Silver tongues
Stripped away
Freedom
And pride
They shattered
Our future,
But also their own.
Hearts still beat
But broken
All the same.
Regrets
Are not
A part of us.
The ghosts of 1898
Will stay an eternity
Forever.
Until.
Peace.
R E M E M B E R   U S .
This poem was based on the true historical events of the 1898 Insurrection. I was disturbed on how the U.S government and the school education system tries to cover this stuff up. I can't believe that I'm learning more black/state history from the internet than from school. I strongly encourage researching this topic, especially if you live in a conservative state or have only been taught about the good parts in American history. Inform and educate others about this stuff too. Sorry for ranting. :)
Mar 2020 · 93
How I Discovered Myself
Willow Silvera Mar 2020
I was just in
6th grade
2nd period
English class
And bored
o u t  o f  m y  
m i n d
When I heard
The dreaded words:
Group Project
Nightmare fuel
For any Introvert
Awkward
Anxious
Silent
Were the 3 exact
Words
Describing me.
And poetry!?
We had to
Write it?
With other people!
I’d always though
That poetry
Was rather dumb
Just meaningless words
Being thrown around.
A simple chore.
Our teacher saw
Our dismal faces
And laughed.
She quietly said
We could choose
Our groups.
I practically
Ran to the desks
Of my two friends
A girl named
Beverly
With an everlasting
Smile and a boy
Named Dylan
Not afraid
Of anything
Or anyone.
They are both
Still my best allies.
We were facing
Our biggest challenge
Yet-
To write a poem
About the feelings
Of an inanimate object.
And we chose
A shadow.
We spent half the class
Arguing about the font
We used and ended up
With Comic Sans
We used the other half
To gave it the title
“The Outcast Shadow”
Our 4 stanza poem was
About a lonely shadow
Hoping to someday
Escape it’s human captor.
The poem
Wasn’t exactly
Mind Blowing
Average, at best.
But by the end of the week
I had fallen in love
With the stanzas
Lines
And fragments of words
I had fallen in love
With Poetry.
I had finally
Discovered myself.
Mar 2020 · 70
Outsider
Willow Silvera Mar 2020
Nobody ever told me
I was ever that different.
I do not look
Like a blonde haired
Blue eyed
All-American girl.

But I did not know
I would be treated
Differently until
Seven years ago
I noticed
That the questions
Thrown at me
Were not
Considered
Normal
Where are you from?
Is English hard for you?
Are you a Satan worshipper?

These
Questions
Shattered my identity
In two
These
Questions
Quickly turned
Into ignorant slanders
Threats
Curses
Go back to your country.
I bet you’re gonna shoot us all up.
You don’t believe in God!?
I try
And fight back.
I take pride
In where I come from.
But it doesn’t change the fact
That I am more
American
Than anything else.

It was my parents
Who came from
A country far away
I was not raised
Like everyone else
Your mother would not
Approve of the way
My mother raised me
But
I was born
And raised
Here.
My country.
My home.
My dark skin should not
Be seen as  a threat.
My brown eyes should not
Be seen as a warning.
I don’t know who I am yet.
I don’t know what I am.
But I think
I know
What’s worth
Fighting for.
This poem was inspired by an indie rock artist called Mitski. Go check her out! She's really good (not sponsored.)
Mar 2020 · 115
I N F I N I T Y C I T Y
Willow Silvera Mar 2020
A horizon of skyscrapers
Flashing neon lights
A utopia of pastel punk colors
The echo of endless ringing
Reflecting across my mind
I live in this artificial world
Which some call  p e r f e c t
The synthetic sky gently fades
To  i n k  b l a c k
As stars made of plastic appear
Cars blast their horns
The headlights shimmering on the sides
Of towering skyscrapers
While empty thoughts brush past
My mind
Is an eternal
Aquatic abyss
A stranded desert
Holding memories of days gone by
This is where i belong
Fog drifting in the air
Wisps of chemical clouds
At night
and the stories
Of the curious inhabitants
Crossing paths
And choosing them
A planetary aesthetic
Covering each and
Every one
Welcome
To i n f i n i t y  c i t y
Mar 2020 · 86
Can I be Saved?
Willow Silvera Mar 2020
Tears, they fall like splintered
Rain                    
Plunging down from
Clouds of pain
Pain like,
A dull knife through my
Forlorn heart
A bullet through the chest
An arrow through my
Tragic mind
Midnight blood
Flowing from my wounds
That comes from those things
A dull knife
A sharp, swift
bullet shot
I could think
of many ways to die
A distracted train
A jagged cliff
A hanging
Rope
Taking away my
B R O K E N  P R I D E
And
F R A G M E N T S  O F  M Y
S O U L
Raising a white flag
To the universe above
A rope
A knife
A leap
A slit to the
throat
Drowning in
The endless sea
C A N  I  B E  S A V E D
B E F O R E  T H E  F L A G  R I S E S ?
A question forever unanswered
Ignored by those
In front of me
No one
Truly
Hears my pleas
Can I…
Call you a friend?
(W H A T  I S  A  F R I E N D?)
Will you come for me?
( N O   O N E   W I L L)
I honestly doubt it
You won’t be there
(W I L L   A N Y O N E?)
You won’t save me
N O   O N E   C A N
I am rapidly falling
Down this inescapable
Cliff
Jagged with crystal rock
Falling to a pit of eternal
Darkness
Unable to stop
Is there any way to save me…?
Probably not.
If only I could just
Not exist
For a while
Escape this wretched illusion
Will you like me if I am
D E A D ?
Probably.
Not.
But maybe
Maybe you’ll be like me
B R O K E N
And
A L O N E
Tears slipping down my
Scarred cheeks
In the dead of night.
I don't know
If I want to be saved
Mar 2020 · 84
Kurt Cobain
Willow Silvera Mar 2020
I’ve got drooping, pacific eyes
Unkempt hair
Spread across my rumpled pillow
Turquoise Dollar Tree headphones
Covered in shadows
Tuned out
From the outside world

I am listening to
A voice stretched with pain
Imperfect, but at the same time
Fighting a war against
The world itself
Vivid bass
Booming through my ears
And the striking of drums
Lightning echoing
Out my headphones
The coarse voice
Filled with agony and the grief
Of millions of those forever lost,
And his muted guitar
Come to a gentle end


I haltingly return to reality
Turning around and
Clicking on
A new melody
I settle back in
To this new world
And finally close my eyes.
I am home.
Mar 2020 · 95
Maps
Willow Silvera Mar 2020
The Maps
Filled with criss-crossed
Broken lines and the spaces in
Between
Loosely covering
The pale green
walls of my room.
Sheltering the cracks
Shaped by forgotten dreams
And lost memories
Finding their way back home
The maps will sometimes
Lead them along a path
Before releasing them back
To the place they were first born.

The Maps
Are more than just
“Pieces of paper”
They are my future
My hopes and dreams
I drew them with my blood
And plastered them onto my faded
Walls with my scarred hands
And broken fingers
They encapture the pathways of my
Veins and the
Flow of my thoughts

The Maps
Are what will help me
Become who I want to be
And get where I want to go
They are aged, and worn
They’ve been spit on by society
And ripped to shreds by the demons
Corrupting this place
But I’ve taped them back together
For hours on end
These Maps,
Are my life source
My light
When there is none
The candescent hope
Giving me strength
When nothing else can.
I will endlessly follow them
Till I lose my last breath.
Feb 2020 · 110
Dance of the Devadasi
Willow Silvera Feb 2020
She emerges like
A willowy swan
Onyx butterflies
Resting on her widened
Striking bronze eyes,
Wearing an Ivory sari
An ersatz Taj Mahal
Draped in intricate gold trim
Her long braid flings
Through the fragrant air
As her identity
Dissolves into the rhythm
And she surrenders
To the beating of the drum
Jasmine crowns her head
Jewels clinking, jangling
As her toes skim the ground
And her henna tipped fingers
Dance with the flow of the veena
Rosy cheeks as she pushes through
On this stage,
She is free.
Feb 2020 · 93
Home Planet
Willow Silvera Feb 2020
I am standing
At the      e d g e
Of a cliff
Soaked with ripe cherries
Covered in grainy
Indigo sand
Overlooking a serene
Rose tinged lake
Covered in white lotus flowers
And surrounded by
Glistening cerulean rock

A vivid orange sky
Hangs over me
Carrying stars made
Of crystal and jade
As a pastel moon
Softly shines

Violets surround
My hazed vision
Their wispy aroma
Healing the scars
I took from rose thorns
The autumn wind
Gently blows my hair
And allows me to
Breathe at last.

I don't know how I
Came here.
But I don't want
To go back
For now
I will stay
With the alabaster Lotus flowers
The amethyst moon
And soft blue sand.
Feb 2020 · 101
Oh, Sweet Silence
Willow Silvera Feb 2020
Silence
Is the best genre
Of music
It keeps us
From becoming completely
I n s a n e
To exist in
A non-existing sort of way.

But Silence
Has also been
the Condemnor
Of thousands
It is the
Illusion that
Everything is alright
And the world is made
Of nothing
But Peace
(Lies)

This music has made
Others become blind
To
Hunger.
Violence.
War.
We must
Speak out.
Fight with our words
Battalions of letters
The power of our voices
Attack it with
Palaces of paragraphs
Or Silence will win.
Feb 2020 · 149
City Giraffe
Willow Silvera Feb 2020
The Giraffe is towering
And stands strong among others
But starts to gently weep
For It has promises to keep
Tormented with nightmares
The city never sleeps
Silence has forever deceased

Spotted with rusted windows
Reflecting a scatter of light
And wired with secrets
Hundreds of heartbeats
Tucked inside
Pressed between
Specks of saffron and chestnut
Looming in the smoke and sun
Unable to walk

The thudding of footsteps
Thundering in it’s chest
A frigid, monotone humming
Echoing
Through it’s internal core
Eyes dark as ink
Stars caught between
Luminously gleaming in the night
Forever standing still
Watching the years pass by

Observing day after day
Faces linger in memory
Learning every detail by heart
And staring into the horizon
Hoping to one someday
Touch the sky
Feb 2020 · 739
The Puppeteers
Willow Silvera Feb 2020
We’re all puppets
With scripts to follow
And strings attached
Whether we like it
Or not
Blinded by their lies,
Surrendering to illusions,
Pledging to the Puppeteers,
Above us

Tied to coarse string at birth
All we know is
Curtains hanging
To keep
(Protect, they say)
Us from
Reality

The ones we willfully
Placed on their gleaming
Ruby-encrusted thrones
We gave them wine
Made from our blood.
In Return,
They changed
Our veins to sap
Our flesh to wood.

And so
We, the People
Politely clapped
And nodded.
We, the People
Supported the idea of banishing
Our own kind.
We, the People
Cheered and yelled when the Grand Puppeteer
Ordered for us to be
Isolated and confined
From the Others.
Welcome to the Land of the Free!
Feb 2020 · 85
The Other Side
Willow Silvera Feb 2020
I watch you walk away
As the ground splits between us
Your slender figure
Becomes small
You leave me there
On the Other Side
With tears dripping down my cheeks.
I can still see
Your ebony hair
Blowing in the wind

There is always the Other Side
It has taken away from me
My old life
Filled with joy
Leaving me with this
Cracked and broken
Fragment of an existence
I try to reach out my hand
Covered with scars
But my demons won’t let me
They circle my head
Telling me to surrender

I almost do.
But deep inside
My chest
I know I never will.
I’ll keep fighting.
For you.
Always
For you.
Feb 2020 · 85
The End of Everything
Willow Silvera Feb 2020
I sometimes wonder
What the End is like
My last thoughts
And how I would surrender myself
To the Universe
Whether it would be an accident
Or me finally raising a white flag
I often imagine a man
With gentle, blue eyes
that remind me
Of Spring
Dressed in black
Holding a Sunflower
Carrying me away
To a place made of darkness and stars
Than lightly letting me go

He wraps my fingers
Around the stem
Of the wilting Sunflower
He once carried
And I tighten my grip.
Leaving me to forever float
In this strange place
He waves goodbye
with a look of
Melancholy
On his pale freckled face
And turns around
Never looking back

As I glide in the dark
My thoughts
And memories
Drift away
Making me an empty shell
Made of flesh and bones
With only
A drooping Sunflower
To analyze
For the rest of forever
The End of Everything.
Feb 2020 · 83
Street Magic
Willow Silvera Feb 2020
A street full of faces
Not worth remembering
Children hand in hand
Leather jackets and
Laughing
Old men sitting at the
Faded yellow curb
Cigarettes in gnarled hands
Smoke drifting in the air

Only those who truly believe
In Magic
Will see the Magician
With dark eyes
Holding the universe within
Her hair long and sleek
Like a raven’s wings
A crimson cloak billowing
Behind her silk top hat
Wearing a vintage coat
With glazed silver buttons

Her raspberry lips always
Carry a lingering smile
When you walk up to see
Her. And ask
For a trick.
She’ll lean down almost
Touching her pointed nose
To yours
And softly ask you,
In a voice that sounds like
Cold water trickling down
A stream
Do you believe in Magic?
And look deep into your soul
While you find an answer.
Yes.
Feb 2020 · 84
Call My Name
Willow Silvera Feb 2020
When you call my name
The world stops moving
The universe pauses to listen
Fireworks go off in the sky
A moment brimming with magic
Before time continues to run

When you look into my eyes,
A smile caught on your
Strawberry field lips
I feel the ocean inside of me
Crashing waves and sweet sea breeze
Your eyes might as well be
The summer sky

Your mind is geared like a
Vintage watch and you
Peer into the quiet corners
Of the world, the small things.
You laugh when you catch me
Staring at your streaked blonde
Locks of Hair and
When I seem confused

I would like to have the chance
To talk to you forever
And to hear you
Call my name
Over and over again
Feb 2020 · 88
I Don't Know How to Leave
Willow Silvera Feb 2020
I am trapped inside my mind
Trying to shove past my skull
Without cracking it
So I run a million miles away
But I don’t know
How to come back
And truly stay

I am drowning in my universe
Going deeper and deeper
As time glides past me
And everyone leaves
Because
What if I fall?
What if my feet plunge
Through the tiles?

My mind is my
Escape
(Prison)
Liberator
(Captor)
Yet I cannot live without this.
It has become a part
Of who I am.
Who am I?
And how can I leave?
When I want
(Need)
To
Stay.

— The End —