She would watch
the world
Burn in flame
And crumble
To naught but ash
Because then maybe, all
would finally
be
Equal.

We built our house
at the base of Vesuvius;
in the shadow of that mountain
we made our home.

When the tremors came
we shook it off and carried on:
it was just the island settling.

When fire rained down,
and smoke and ash filled the sky
we did nothing but watch,
as the air darkened.

We knew- in the back of our minds-
that the end was coming, and yet
we did nothing because what was there to do?

They will come in a hundred years
and see the green grass and
the beautiful, vibrant blossoms
and know nothing of the fire that destroyed us.

At first, there is nothing,
Then a blossom of light
It brightens your day,
And glows in the night.
A wonderful feeling,
Puts warmth in your chest.
And for a short while,
You feel strangely blessed.
But then, there are those things
That just will not work.
They try and fit together,
But both are just… hurt.
So one says goodbye,
The other says it doesn't matter,
But in actuality,
Both hearts are shattered.
Like broken pieces of glass,
They cut and you bleed,
But both visions are too clouded
To see what they really need.
A little bit of warmth
To melt and to mend
A new kind of glow
To see you through to the end.
There will be many ups and downs
There will be sunshine and rain
There will be love and heartbreak
They will always be the same.
Someone will shatter you,
And you’ll feel
there’s no way to be fixed,
But broken isn't unfixable,
And someone new
is thrown into the mix.
All love may not be eternal,
But some things will last,
And heartbreak only lasts,
As long as it is asked.

I want to go
where the sun is clear
and the air is fresh-
somewhere I can be at peace

Before,
This was a home.
Now,
It is poison.

I want to breathe but
The air is toxic and
Your words- they are harsh-
Cut deep
and they hurt.

I want to sleep but
The monsters keep me awake.
They haunt
Only me.

I want to rest my
Weary, aching feet but
The chair, the sofa, the bed-
This house
is made
of Fire.

Before,
This was a home.
Now,
It is only poison.

I tell people that I'm not 'nice'
and they immediately assume
I'm telling them
I'm mean.

What I meant to say is-
I'm not soft
or fluffy
or flowery.

But I like to think
I'm good
and that I do
good things.

I'm honest
and I'll always tell you
what I think you need to hear
whether you want to
or not.

and I'll always be there
whether you're looking for me
or not,

but I won't whisper
fake, meaningless, sweet
nothings
into your ear.

I won't pretend I like
the way you
insult people's love
or appearance
or culture.

And I won't pretend
to be who I'm not.
Just to make you think
I'm a 'Nice' Girl.

She stands,
A hand on his shoulder,
Under green-shadowed
Arches.

His tears flow freely-
Fallen petals on
Stone
Cold
Ground.

Indigo-ivory blossoms
Soak up
Despair.

I’m not religious

But sometimes i
see an angel in
the eyes of the little girl down the street.

I’m not religious but
Sometimes I find a bit of faith
In the kindness of others

I’m not religious
But sometimes i pray
To whoever is out there
To help me make it through the day

I’m not religious but sometimes
We all need a little bit of hope
And heaven.

If someone asked me
how I would describe
color,
I would tell them this:

Yellow
is stepping outside in spring.
It is the welcoming
embrace of sun.

Green
is lying in a field of grass.
It is the rustle of leaves
in the summer breeze.

Blue
is standing in the light rain,
and the sweet birdsong
when the sky opens up.

Red
is the feeling when your hands brush;
her lips on yours, breathing the same air.
It is the fire in two hearts that beat together.

Dear [insert name here],
This is For:
A girl made out of glass,
       The world sees only her mask.
A shattered scarlet smile,
        It might be the blood
        of those who broke her heart
The weeping willow tree,
        It weeps for what it sees
The boy that ‘cannot love.’
        He only does what he is told
This broken-hearted ‘thing,’
        They call me ‘freak’
A ‘left-behind-but-safe,’
        There is no real safe place
A queen who can’t want ‘life’
        Or love, or anything at all
A silent mourning scream,
        No one hears her call
The banished lovers lost,
        Because there are so many

And for
The undead ones who miss Hell.
Because they know
Hell,
Is better than this place
Where everything is pretty
And everything is 'normal'
Or it is worth
less
Than nothing at all.
Sincerely,
Someone With Things to Say

I feel the feather-light touches
Of imaginary fingers
As they creep across my shoulders.
Longingly,
I pretend that the pressure
Across my chest is the security
Of your arms holding me.
But really, it is the constricting
Bind of loneliness
Gripping me tightly.

“My heart ached. These people were full of joy and happiness, and here I was, isolated; alone.

I was simply overlooked, they had no idea i was even there.

They didn’t know who i was.

     I wasn’t sure I did either

But in the end, did that even matter? Who or What you are?

I no longer thought it did.

But when did my opinion- what i thought- ever count?

No one else knew I was here … And for that I was glad; I did not want to speak with anyone.

I was filled with a certain kind of misery. The kind where guilt eats away at the soul; it devours the strength and darkens the light. It was the kind of feeling that fills you up, to the point where forgiveness can’t find its way through.”

Seeps into the soul;
An incurable nothing
Slips into the mind
    -- And Stays There

She was a match in the night-
Bright, brilliant, burning.
When the sun rose
She burned on and on and on
And then It came,
The cool, calming wind
That saved her from herself
Breathe, it told her,
Breathe into the dawn.
For it was not any one person
Or one single thing, that saved her:
Only the freedom
And the rush-
The promise of a Wild Life.

bold?
/italics/?
"Normal"
bold* /italics/?
Someone
please
explain

If the world
started to burn,
she might have just
let it.
    -- if only out of spite.

I want to take
the fast train with you
and go far away from here.
~
Wǒ xiǎng gēn nǐ
zuò kuàichē
qù lí zhè'er yuǎn

Look into my broken eyes
And thus wholly truthful be:
Did you love “us” truly?
Or only the idea of “me”?

Everyone remembers
That roses have thorns
And that ivy is poison,
But nobody told me
That the fire in her eyes
Would rage and ravage
My heart and soul.
And nobody told me
How much I would love it.

Look into my broken eyes
And thus wholly truthful be:
Did you love “us” truly?
Or only the idea of “me”?

We built our house at the base of the mountain.
When the tremors began, we ignored them.
When fire and ash rained from the sky
we covered our heads but did not run.
We knew in our hearts: this is how it ends.
When they come in a hundred years
they will see green grass and purple blossoms.
They will know nothing of the pain
save for the hollows of our bodies.