“Cold snowflakes upon my arm

the winter shine peeking through a crack in the blinds

a breeze of ice engulfing the room through a window left ajar

a land covered in a shiny white blanket.”

Winter has come. Cue the thick padded coats and the parkas of every color of the rainbow! Behold the sleds and skis and the beautiful Siberian huskies who pull them. Await the closing of schools and the temperature drops, keeping people in and making children everywhere euphoric as ever. The time has come for skating upon rivers of ice, and joyous dinners in warm wooly sweaters as families gather around to indulge in the tastiest of food. Fireplaces shall again be lit in all households of old, and stockings hung up early in preparation for Christmas. Happy smiles all around, engaging in snowball fights and the building of snowmen.

Ah but winter is as winter does. As numbers reach the negatives, heaters are turned up to the warmest possible, insulating the beings in a home and using electricity. What about those without a home? Those who are confined to the streets of the city, waiting for the cold to eat their bodies up and leave them in a state of rigidity? They are left to waste. Left to succumb to the bitterness of winter, with no sustenance whatsoever or any form of water to soothe their burning throats. The cold will conceal them in a cover of white death, a prison of snow. And in the early mornings of every winter-filled day, a machine is sent out to collect the bodies of those who have been imprisoned by the winter. The one operating the machine weeps silent tears for these ice prisoners before bringing their poor souls elsewhere.

Winter is two-faced, and she is both beautiful and terrible as the morning and the night.

(lunarlullubies)

They didn't know that when they glanced at her when she walks by in the halls, she feels uncomfortable. She feels judged. She is so much stronger than that, but she has been broken. A lovelorn, erring, gentle girl. She makes mistakes just like you or I. Tangled, once happy relations with guys who promised to love her wholeheartedly.

i. her first love. Arguments, disagreements broke them. However, love eventually found them, and brought these equally sad souls together again.

ii. she met him at the start of 7th grade. He had eyes for her best friend, and eventually set his sights on her. 9 months they loved each other, overcoming obstacles and setbacks. But... she stopped her loyalty to him, and pledged her allegiance to another.

iii. their love started on a rocky base, and it will continue as so. They loved each other for a few months, before again she pledged her allegiance to another, stopping loyalty again. This time, mostly because she discovered that she has pledged her allegiance to the wrong boy.

iv. her first love. Loyalty is still very much there, but only time can tell if their love for each other is as true as how the waves cherish the shores they kiss every day.

She found solace in the spilling of her own blood from her wrecked body, onto the grounds of her sorrow. Said it made her feel alive, to see the silver of blades win death matches against her flesh, to see the crimson of her body's fluids flow out like a red fountain.

She continued like this for a few hundred days, mindlessly mutilating herself. And then one day she decided to stop. Some may say, the return of her to her first love has done her well, for they both had death wishes. She only stopped viciously running blades over her skin to save this boy, the one she's in love with. Suicide pacts were on their minds, and days were counting down to their impending demise. She knew she had to do something. So she put on fake smiles, took on the form of joyful and went out into the world, channeling new feelings of optimism and the advocation of preserving oneself. She found it comforting to help others with conditions she has experienced before and is always sure to tell them all the reasons why what they're doing is wrong.

A time in her life was when she found (beautiful) pictures online of those a size (or many sizes) smaller than the average body. She wanted to be like them, and thought that skipping meals would help her attain her goal. She craved the image of herself being a few sizes smaller, and having specific parts of her body toned down. She didn't realize that this too, would **** her if she continued it over a long period of time. But every time she peered into the mirror, all she would see is a mess of weird, bulging flesh and bulk in all the wrong places. This action of course, stopped when she had the epiphany that whatever she thought was going to help her, never will.

Inside this torn and shattered soul of a person, is a nice and gentle girl who would be a great friend to anyone. She's still the same inside, only her physical and current mentality fools all.



-x.o

She has been questioning herself. Questioning her existence, and her position in life? Will she end her poems with (x.o.) or (lunarlullubies)? Why does this darkness thrive within her? How does it manage to feed off her soul so she’ll contract it’s disease and become a permanent part of her? She doesn’t know. She doesn’t know. All she knows is that somewhere in her mind, there exists an intelligence that no one has ever embraced. She doesn’t use all of it all the time because it would offend some people.

She knows how to love a man properly. She knows how to remember every single detail about him, how his eyes sparkle whenever he’s contented and how they look deep into her when they’re together. She knows. She’ll remember his birthday, their anniversary, his number, his coffee order and even his address because she loves him, and would do anything for him. She would be the one to buy flowers, the one to ask him out on dates. She would be the one.

She looks into the mirror everyday and asks why she can’t be of another race, why she can’t have auburn curls or green eyes, or blue eyes. She wonders why she can’t get rid of her love handles, or her baby fat. She’s the girl in school who embraces many. Who looks up to many. When will anyone look up to her? When will people start asking her where she got her clothes from? Or her inspiration?

She has never been on the logical side, but what she doesn’t have in logic, she makes up for in creativity. Writing poetry, singing, playing instruments and reading have always been her greatest enjoyments. She doesn’t like challenging problem sums or figuring out what the square root of pi is. She wants to look to the other side of life where the complication is low. What she doesn’t understand, is why the education system chooses to make her study mathematics which she clearly doesn’t ace it. She doesn’t understand why her math teacher wouldn’t help her but instead indirectly call her a hopeless case and a sad sob story of great words with high levels of stupidity and ignorance. She doesn’t know. She knows that studying mathematics could have some kind of good impact on her, but she just doesn’t get it. Every problem is twisted like a good mystery. She likes mysteries but can never seem to solve them on her own because she doesn’t have good deduction skills. Her dad told her, “Good deduction skills come from learning mathematics.” and she has been trying to learn. Trying to understand the intricacies of it. She has great ambitions, but the system and the way of society doesn’t let her fulfil those ambitions. They make her value money over happiness, which is something she doesn’t like, but has to believe in. She thinks it’s flawed, and argues about topics like it. She is the president of one of the most underrated clubs in school – the debate club. Some students don’t even know that their school has a debate club. She cries about how things don’t go well. She wants them to improve.

She knows. She knows that someday everything will all change because everyone will grow up one day.



(lunarlullubies)

Golden brown, cranberry sauce and pumpkin pie staring at you from the dinner table. We give gratitude to everything good that has ever happened to us. The date, an indecisive number, moves back one every year until 22, then it moves up to 28 again. The family gathers round and say their thank yous before the glorious feast and parades are heard out on the streets. Everyone is hugged and kissed before the beautiful day after Thanksgiving begins and people can flock the stores they love.

(lunarlullubies)

i. The calm of the sea calls out to me like a sweet bitter song written on vengeful manuscripts left in a barren recording studio. I lay on the vessel, listening as the sea faeries whisper my name from the sea foam, asking me to stop the vessel I am on. I ignored them, for they are faeries which are clearly a figment of my imagination. The waves grew angry, and the sky overcast. Grey clouds surrounded us and lightning started to strike. A deep hollow sound erupted from somewhere above, and I knew that the faeries were infuriated. I rushed to the captain, a handsome, clean shaven man and begged him to stop the Costa Victoria. At seeing my pathetic self, he agreed to stop it and shut down all engines. The sea grew calm again, but we were stuck in the sea, the captain and I. The crew members were virtually nonexistent, as were the other passengers on board. They, of course, were merely evidence of an earthen world, and with the faeries’ storm, they had ceased to continue existing. I set off for the lifeboats with the captain in hand, a smile plastered on my usually dead face.



ii. Treacherous were the waves that stared back at me when my eyes took a detour out of the balcony. They were harsh and unforgiving, roaring and   rumbling beneath me. They didn’t disappear, but instead swallowed the night whole with an unprecedented strength.



iii. The sea was an endless expanse of black and white anguish, and in the horizon, an unknowing danger loomed, threatening to swallow us up whole if we didn’t continue our speed of 22 knots.



(lunarlullubies)