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Heartache clings to me like a child,
And quite at times.
But pain takes a lead
As the child starts screaming,
Clawing at my arm,
Drawing blood.
I try to hush the child,
But get bitten instead.
Giving in,
The child gets more candy
And more of whatever she wants.
Peace for now...

Soon to go again like a merry go round
Where have you gone?
No light in your eyes and no voice in your words.
Everything is gone,
This isn't the one I thought I knew...
I can feel your love for me, and
Wish you weren’t so far.
You, me?
I’m excited to have this forever view.

You help me bloom,
Watching movies, eating pizza,
I never want this to end.
You on one knee, and I
Happy, ecstatic, YES!!!
The pitch of a piccolo.
Forever in Sixteen.
Have you ever wondered how one spark can illuminate the universe?
Once thought as black and pressing,
now realized to be endless.
One spark.
One spark of knowledge
casting out the darkness
and giving needed knowledge to the world.

You have wondered.
Your soul feels the crushing question of existence
weighing down on your consciousness, often wondering,
"Is this a figment of another's dream?
Are others meant to push to a
pre-decided future?"
You may never find the truth you lack, you may never be satisfied.

One spark--
All knowledge needs to come from somewhere.
I know this isn't really a traditional poem but I am trying to write a book and I was wondering if anyone would give me their opinion on how it is turning out. There will be more numbered sections later. Thanks!!!
It was dark and dreary. The poorly lit room stank of mold and mildew as ill kept books lay rotting in a pile. Weary of rats and spiders, you set to work, salvaging what you could, which tended to be nothing. Book after rotting book thrown into a pile, the smell of decay growing in the air. Finally, at the bottom of the stack, you discover a book bound in soft red velvet locked with a golden chain. Intrigued, you hid the book beneath your shirt, so The Others would not know of your precious treasure. The book's name: Future.

Your secret you may longer keep, it was future for the taking, but light may nar reach your place with confidence dividing. Returning to what you once knew is a ruin you can't face, staring at you through unclear eyes, the future you are bound to lose, but it is not a good thing to think that way now.

The Others-- they are lifeless faces, blank expressions interacting like clockwork and just the same every day. They needlessly stare at your labeled stupidity, a genius in society, lacerating you from the rest of society. There is an encompassing "alone" around your being, which you appreciate like perfume on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Yes, these are the days where you may escape for a few hours from pointed fingers and gawky gazes.

Another Tuesday on its way out, you brush the dust from your jeans and determine that they cannot see the book that you tucked away so carefully. How ancient is this book, to be buried beneath centuries of dilapidated covers? Yet, strangely, it did not suffer the same fate. Perhaps the future is like you are: something that will not change to conform to its surroundings.
I know this isn't a poem but I am trying to write a book and I was hoping if someone would give me their opinion on how it is turning out or give constructive criticism. There will be more numbered sections later. Thanks!!!
You try on a blank expression to fit in like The Others, yet feeling like you are wearing stage makeup and logie, you are an uninvited impostor to the stage. You put your worst foot forward, willingly concealing the extent of your genius, stepping forward into the fuscous hallway, relying on their uniformity in order to blend in.

Their stares are drawn to you instantly, mouths agape and their lucid eyes showing no expression and no thought. It was cold as you shifted your eyes to look at the floor. Step after step you can hear the blood pounding in your ears, every pulse becoming louder as you focused on your feet. You knew the drill-- if they ever stopped to talk, the dreaded question would be asked-- "How are you?" You would suffice to a smile, a lie, though you had never felt so empty. How could that be answered in honesty if all you can say is "Alone," "Ignored," "Devalued?" The insomnia, the stress, the anxiety, the truth: that is what would break your will and increase your assimilation into this plain society. That is, if they ever cared to ask. Ignored in passing conversation, unheard, unseen, struggling under a load of knowledge of a world that was not always this way. Yet, you smile when they ask. They may think you as the happiest person, if they could think, but you have shut yourself in the darkness where they will never find you.

Trudging down the hall with your eyes glued to the floor, and a painted expression on your face, you head back down to the room of your residence. Security cameras scan over the people and guards strode up and down the hallways like they always do-- To keep the peace. You have your doubts about that, constantly wondering if The Others could think if they had the chance. The hall was lit by ***** globes running down the center off the corridor, casting everything in a dismal brown glow. Everything was colored putrid brown: the dirt floor, the ***** lines on your unwashed hands, the doors, the uniformed shirts, the course hair, and the eyes staring back at you. You quickly drop your wandering gaze back to where the rats live, but one of The Guards was already walking toward you, a menacing expression on his grime covered face.

Out of all The Others, The Guards were the worst ones. They remained unthinking and expressionless, but they can tell when another individual was thinking. Any thought is prohibited, be it good or evil. It may break the peace of this thoughtless society. They hunger for violence and deliver unjust punishment without question, especially one of thought. A whipping or a kick is one of the less severe consequences of thought. However, you have witness death before, and you hide your trembling white hands in the pockets of your jeans.

"Yellow," the guard mocked, smiling, licking his lips in anticipation, "How are you?" Then the whipping comes, blow after blow on all sides, both pain and blood searing your nerves. You didn't realize the extra guards coming from behind. Their expressions change, relishing the feeling of joy each time their bats hit another mark on your soft flesh. Thankfully, your conscious quickly retreats to a hiding spot they where can never find you.
This one is a longer one...I know this isn't a poem but I am trying to write a book and I was hoping if someone would give me their opinion on how it is turning out or give constructive criticism. There will be more numbered sections later. Thanks!!!
A breeze in the air,
Rain pattering down from the sky,
Painting the sidewalks a sleek grey,
Beauty in the drizzle.
You raise a hand in the blackness, yet see nothing. You brush aside another thought as tears keep forming in the corners of your eyes. Lost. Alone. Confused. You think of other, more harsh words to describe your poor existence and the pain caused by anguish: ******. You hear a sudden intake of breath in the pressing darkness-- your breath. These words, whether they be true or false, give a concept to what you are: without a place to stand in a world like this.

You long to find the one who broke the wall, who fixed the heart, who changed the course of your destiny, the one who unlocked a door to let the words come out. You could never have done it for yourself. The one friend you had was whisked away to an unknown place. Whether the words given you were a blessing or a curse, you knew that nothing would be the same for you. So did The Others. They watched with their hunted eyes, and The Guards with their hungry ones. Yet they could never discover you in the abyss of your own mind.

Everything is falling apart, falling down into a consuming darkness. Nothing really matters in an imaginary world of darkness, filled with glittering masterpieces masked in black drapery as to never show the world. Again you down a draft of another lie-- a poisonous elixir to the mind. Again, the imaginings of the heart grow faster, and you allow yourself to dream-- just once-- of the life your friend had spoken of. Life without The Others? You have been long desolate and deprived of encouragement and love that these thoughts of a better world bring renewed pain to your heart and diamonds cutting at the corner of your eyes.

Gradually, the dingy light returns you back to that former state of unrest and distrust. You long for the comfortable darkness as the wrenching physical pain returns. They left you lying in the hall, with people and rats scurrying about with blank expressions. Guilty again, your thoughts run wild. No one pays attention.
I know this isn't a poem but I am trying to write a book and I was hoping if someone would give me their opinion on how it is turning out or give constructive criticism. There will be more numbered sections later. Thanks!!!
Awake from the nightmare,
But bending again to the new one dawning.
Sometimes I think of you darling,
Wondering, wishing, waiting...
What would you do if I told you exactly what I'm thinking?
It's not what you're thinking.
Shove love back a page,
Mages can't lay their finger here.
Would you?
Could you?
Drive five,
Maybe ten hundred miles
To save me from myself?

I want to ask you,
Will I be the cause of my own death?
People live in dark realities, a seamless nightmare, a grim fairy-tale of hope and heartache. People always try, perhaps their hardest, yet, people always fail: Is it better to question potential, or falter in a better place?

Some gave in-- The Others did. Their first mistake: setting out to fail. Many let it gather, a raging storm waiting to break loose from their eyes, clouding their perception while their friends turn into fiends consulting the devil. They don't know how you live. You let the storm blow over. You didn't give in. Limitless you are in your mind, yet others try to control that. You have always enjoyed your sunny patch in the dark storm of reality, but feel like a beggar at the mercy of this society.
I know this isn't a poem but I am trying to write a book and I was hoping if someone would give me their opinion on how it is turning out or give constructive criticism. There will be more numbered sections later. Thanks!!!
You stand back up in this dismal world, face down at the floor. You will not rebel today; you must fit in for a few more months. You must not be discovered. Focus: mumchance. The Others do not know how plastic, how robotic they became. Perfect your flaws and mask your feelings. Imperviously, you have become a doll, a moving statue with no expression. No one can know, you will not feed monsters your fears, yet you already have.

Step after hesitant step with your eyes on the dirt, you make it back to your destination. Griping the golden handle, you open the dirt caked door to reveal your abode. Brown blanket spread on a wooden bed frame, a pillow stained with mud, even though you tried not to cry, a rickety wooden chair and a desk to go with it. You quickly close the door. You only have a few minutes before the lights turned out and you didn't want to do it gawking at your few possessions. Quickly, quietly, you shut the door, locking it with shaky hands. You may finally be alive again. But what was it like? To live before this? To be happy?

What is happiness?

You have never known that word, only that it is the opposite of disgrace, pain, and violence. Maybe it is dark and silent, like the place they cannot find you, where they cannot harm you. It is not the fire in their eyes that call for destruction. That is all you know.

Breathing in deeply, you reveal the book, a treasure to your eyes. You are aware that it is a symbol of rebellion, a relic that proves that you are guilty of all crimes. The velvet, scarlet, was soft and worn, the title spun out of gold. "Future" you mouth silently, the word too strong for your own ears. The chain, also gold, shone brightly, as if just yesterday it was formed. Yet there was no key-- there was no way to see what "Future" had to offer you.

You try everything to open the lock. You pick at it. You curse it. You plead with it. In your frustration, you throw the book under your pillow and sink into your blanket for another night of dreamless sleep. As your mind drifts and the lights grow dark, your thoughts remain fixed on the book. Slowly, you slip into a tossing sleep.
I know this isn't a poem but I am trying to write a book and I was hoping if someone would give me their opinion on how it is turning out or give constructive criticism. There will be more numbered sections later. Thanks!!!
I am the horrible one--
Destroying hope,
A mock blessing,
Living in the unconscious mind
And just so easily forgotten.

I deserve the pain that plagues a heart.

And as I easily let the tears fall from my eyes,
I forget how
Easily I once smiled.

I am the horrible one
And there is no remedy
For the embarrassment I am.
Ab Initio: From the beginning; from the very start or outset.
I miss you.

Not in the physical kind of way,
You are still here--
I can reach out and touch you now.

But things are different now.
Now all I do is
Drag behind you,
You even forgot I was here.

We use to talk,
Walking to our classes,
Sometimes passing them,
Not physically,
But in deep conversations,
Where our words were equals,
Even if we weren't.

Now we hardly say "hello,"
Sitting next to you,
Your presence is comforting,
Your silence is not.
Being near you makes me miss you more.

Do you ever miss me too?
My official NaPoWriMo address:
Hate dripped down from his words,
His eyes,
They bore into the soul,
Frostbite to her heart.

Yet she also fought with daggers,
Her sharp tongue flashing the blades,
Cutting him and
Her chilly soul.

As things turned worse,
Physical weapons appeared,
And the child watched,
Their child watched as
The husband beat the wife
And the wife beat the husband.
The child dares not to make a noise,
Fearing punishment.

The child has already lost the ability to cry.
The world is black and white
With a mix of grey,
Painting a purplish shade,
These crimson colors will never fade.
Tempered with brown and yellow,
No camera can capture the
Touch of a mother,
Or a golden sunset,
Slipping behind the green and blue.
The world is only colors,
The shouts of orange
And the soft whispers of the lilac
Tell of stories much more than the
Black and white.

Grey is the daughter,
The developer of color:
Call to comfort or
Threaten the foes.
In a word:
Both light and dark,
Hard and soft,
Lonely and forgotten.

I am gray again today.
Achroous Definition: Colorless
One shot is heard.
Two men glance at each other knowing only one would make it.
Three guards at the door,
Restraining four crying children.
Five women-- mothers and wives mourn nearby,
Six laws were broken,
Seven things stolen,
Eight minutes were spent to make
Nine years worth nothing now.
Ten seconds to say goodbye.
Read forwards then backwards.

Acouasm Definition: hearing bells in one's ears.
I've never fell so hard or fast,
You were my perfection.
Even if you made mistakes
To always tried to right them.
I remember you trying to replace the things stolen,
And stop the robbery from happening,
I can see you holding my hand
As I doodled on your back,
I could sense your listening ears
When I told you we should wait,
And I could hear you pounding on the door
When the nightmares were too great.

I was in an evil place,
But you taught me to live.
I do not remember it all,
But I hope I had no regrets.

In this nightmare--
The one you can't save me from,
A feeling of dark--
I was the dark,
And I wanted to die.

I was on the verge of nothing anyway
Because They control everything.
Even if I lived like a princess,
Even if I looked like a princess,
I was nothing.
My parents were taken from me,
So was my privacy.
And I bet all the friends I made
Weren't there to set me free.
You weren't controlled--
Except by love for me.
I hope it's everlasting so
Come find me now--
I'll keep my promise,
But my nightmares are too much.

I can no longer hear you pounding at the locked metal door.
From the dream I had last night

Acratia Definition: failure of strength; weakness; debility.
I don't feel human.
I destroy too much,
Too much to think I am human:
Less than human.
I will break.
I have been broken too long.

Will anybody show me
How to be human again?
Don't say goodbye even though
I'm not here:
I'm in my shadow,
My mistakes deceiving the light in me.
Perfection is friend I made
When I was born to this world.

I'm less human
The more I remain here.
Can't you see
With your own eyes?
The beauty is ebbing away
And I live in a darker gray.
I can't tell if this demon is
Mine, or if it controls me.

Stay with me until the night is gone,
This nightmare has just begun.
Let's go back and diminish
The pains that are of today.
Sing to me until the soft wings of sleep
Suffocate the demon in my mind.
Show me how to be human again,
Like you would if you were mine.
Inspired by "Human" By Gabrielle Aplin and "Till I fall Asleep" By Jayme Dee

Agelast Definition: A person who never laughs
I'm not the kind of person you would expect to see
Wallowed up in pitiful misery,
But walled up behind this blue mystery
It is clear to see I am not at ease.

These hands almost need to destroy these things,
My feet walk daringly close to the fiends,
The heart I own knows not to lean,
And my body, prostrate it will be.

I'm stuck in a compulsive lying stage
Where I tell more than I ought to wage.
I feel like I'm lying on woody sage,
Or barred up in some terrible, foreboding cage.

I lie when I say that I'm alright,
I lie when I say the sky is looking bright,
I lie when I see you in my sight,
I lie when I say you started this fight.

Now this isn't about your love,
Or how hard you would shove
If you saw this situation from above.
It's always me I write of.

Now I want to take it all back,
But to tell the honest truth I lack,
Into the heart all truth can hack,
So better to leave this all and pack.

I'm moving on to Mexico,
Where the sun gets hot and the waves are low.
When I get there I won't be an echo,
It's hard to leave, but it's nice to go.

Tell me when it is all said and done,
When they bring back the linens and the sun.
Call me when life is more than won,
But leave me be when they grab another gun.

I own everything that's mine,
But even if I'm hard to find,
In Mexico I would longer hide,
Since all my lying you don't mind.

I highly doubt you could miss
Me, a girl without a kiss,
A snake, a cat, without a hiss,
Who can't amount to any bliss.

Seal me behind big locked bars,
A place without fancy cars.
Put me with all the liars,
Ship me off to a place like Mars.

But I can lie,
And I'm no longer shy.
I'll move down to Mexico,
Buy a new sombrero,
And abandon an achy heart,
On the hills of Mar's black art.
A la belle étoile Definition: 'Under the beautiful star'; in the open air at night.
She was a girl called Chowder,
Hopes hanging on her heart
And roses in her window.
Written up to as much as she thought she was,
She let go,
Let the blows take her back to the
Days on the beach--
The lake.
Her age too young,
But too confident to see
An impending reality
Of ultimate misery.
Every night she puts her feelings away
And every day she unpacks them again--
Hanging the hopes on her heart
And the roses in her window.
Claiming what she had
She dreamed,
She flew!
Like a bird she was away
Where the cold no longer persisted,
Away from where he hunted.
Out alone she breathed heavy,
Ready to start afresh,
Winning hearts yet wondering why,
And downing more drafts than healthy.
Again she enters into the memory
A kiss
On the beach
At the lake.

Return not to the past you dreamt of leaving. Enter into the future with hopes hanging on your heart. **** the rips he caused on your heart. Water the roses in the open dimmed window. Heap a load of joys in your life. Claim what is yours and what was never his.

                   Take your wings and fly.
Aliferous: Having wings
I want to have courage and confidence in our marriage,
That no matter what happens, you will be there,
Beside me.

You are not the one that has made me doubt.
I've gathered the doubt from
Countless places
And years of experience.
Like mineral deposits, it will take time purge,
To chip away at the worries and anxieties.

I'm glad we've started that clean up.

I want to feel Freedom
Of always knowing you have my heart,
That your hands treasure that gift and
Keep it close.
That you will not push me away.

I want to able to take you for granted,
But to never choose to do so.
I want you to know how closely I hold you in my heart,
That I will never let you go.
I love you.
I love being your snuggle bug,
Your lover,
Your wife.
It still feels like a dream, being in my shoes,
The greatest dream I have ever dreamt.

Thank you for not fading,
For not drifting away when I wake.
I want that continued courage and confidence
That you will always be there
As you promised you would.

I love you.
“For what is happiness anyway?”* She wonders.
It isn’t something you can touch,
Isn’t something you can smell.
You can feel it,
I can feel you have it there in your soul.
I have it too I think.
There isn’t anything telling me otherwise.
Why can’t you be happy in your way, and I be happy in mine.
My happiness is a pad of paper and a pencil.
I don’t need other to tell me what to do.
So there.

But as she sits there alone,
She can still hear them whisper.
That she isn’t good enough,
That she’s weird,
She tries not to listen,
Counters their conversations with thoughts of her own,
But it doesn’t work.
The words penetrate the walls thrown up hastily,
And she retreats farther from them until she is backed into a corner.

But no one notices this happening,
Not even she.
Believing that the world is more,
Smiling through it all,
And being a friend to those that have none.

The only problem:
Believing she has friends until the
Friends of the friends she has come along,
And take what she built up
Until she has none.

Move on, move on, move on.
She tells herself,
A constant, droning chant
In the back of her mind,
To drown out the regrets, the pain, the empty.
One foot in front of the other until
She has walked out and
Left the place she feels so much despair in.
Continuing on in her own way until
She can make it one more day.
Always I try to lead,
But my feet drag like lead,
Coming to my knees to pray,
Don't always keep the hunters from their prey.
Everything is falling, yet I will be okay,
For I know that sometimes
God calms the child, not the storm.
Hours of my time--
I wish it was our time...
Just wait for me, the dead weight is
Killing me, dragging me
Lower than it ever has before.
Minutes tick by,
No one sees me as I bid goodbye,
Only a minute problem though.
Perhaps I am invisible,
Queer, or
Someday I may be better,
Though I know no one can buy me.
Unlimited is what I am,
Value cannot be placed on any one's soul.
Wounds will heal,
Xanthous sunshine will brighten the world,
Yet again at peace,
Zealous in the celebration of life.
If I was more, if I was better,
Not so moody or
Inadequate. The way I always am.
Maybe if I could help him,
Try a little bit harder,
Give him everything he wants,
Sacrifice everything for him.
If I could be a better version of
The girl he dreams of
And change the person I am.
Maybe, just maybe,
He would love me more.

Maybe he wouldn't leave...
Words are of no object,
Just like the past does not exist.
And the future
Is not foreseen.
Words have not object.

But to make the world alive,
Words are objects.
The past is reenacted,
The future is predicted.
But these are both lies
And both truths.
To exist is to be present,
To be in the world.
Words are present--
They disappear.
The past happens--
It is forgotten.
The future is coming--
But it always looms above our heads.

To make it exist--or not--
Is to choose your present carefully.
There is no gift exchange.
You-- and the universe-- depend on
Ampersand Definition: The sign and word for &
What every girl wants:
Ice cream,
Holding tight,
Wiping away tears,
Kissing in the rain,
And the sound of their true name.
Anacampserote: Something which can bring back a lost love
Sometimes I wish
I was a seashell on the beach
That you would pick up
And keep forever.
Antinganting: A magical charm or good luck piece.
in the darkness,
The black of Night EATING
at who i am.
I can't take these words
That come too easily to my broken mind.
I would rather
d i s s o l v e.
Tearing the world down,
Affected by a hot fiery
Diseased and
Cursing the world,
To somewhere worse that
Don't go there.
Let go,
Let fall.
Let the certainty and destruction

That world you make--
What's worthy there?
THAT is not.

Hiding behind glasses and smiles.
Apodixis Definition: Indisputable evidence or proof.
I hope you know,
You are wonderful.
Watch me smile as I
Melt in your deep chocolate eyes.
Your fingers trace my lips softly,
Can you feel the smile cross my lips
As my cheek is pressed against yours?
Another mental picture taken
While in eachother’s arms.
I miss holding you so closely.
I guess it was just how every wish I made--
Yellow lights,
Eye lashes,
I spent them wishing I could be with you,
Be your first kiss,
And your kiss mine.
But then--
I was weak.
I didn't ask you "Do you or did you like me?"
Those were just the words I used.
I meant "Could anyone love me for who I am?"
And then when I tried to play it like a joke--
"Rude." The word too often used
To describe who I am.
It broke me... And my trust in you.
I was being inconsiderate.
I was being rude.
I was weak.
I am still weak.
Funny how being weak makes it hard to let go of a heavy weight.
I promise I don't hate you--
Even if you see sadness in my eyes.
I thought I learned how to love,
But I can't.
I can't even love myself.

And yet--
              After all of this--
                                         I love you for who you are.
Finally all the words came out...

I asked,
Not for you.
A question that tore this apart,
An answer could have saved this heart.

I was decided against.

Why didn't I know what to ask?
Why didn't I know not to ask?

In the world,
I am a dreamer,
Torn between what I was,
And what I will never be.
Being "nice" or "beautiful,"
But is beauty all that matters?

I don't feel it:
No beauty,
No intelligence,
No worth.
The only thing I can never be.

You took back a word.
You claimed you lied.
Which one?
Was it the promise or the answer?
Or is it a false apology?

Flawless my acting was,
Against everything I felt that day.
The pieces of my heart are small,
And it will never amount to enough.
Hopeless when a friendship turns bitter--

--I shouldn't have asked.
I should have been more introverted.
I should not have relied on my instincts.

The wind blows,
Teasing my hair
And drying my tears,
But all I think about is lost...

...Was your answer the lie?
Aporia: Professing to be at a loss as to what to say, where to begin, or how to express something; true or feigned doubt or deliberation about an issue
The black pain faded away to a dull thrumming grey.
No worth,
Nothing left to say.
Little girl, once called beautiful,
Uses more nefarious words to describe herself,
Still holding on to that image of the
Silvery moon.
Tears slip silently down as she finds escape in
Physical pain.
She can no longer continue this way.
Holding out,
Holding on for just one more day,
Gripping her reality with shaky hands that could no longer
Strangle her demons.
Reaching out to anyone,
But trusting too fast.
Left in the dust too often by those she thought cared.
Any promise broken,
Like a heart,
Crushes her--crumbles her.
Her eyes are becoming empty as she accepts the numb,
Penetrating to her very soul.
She cries in vain.
No one listens, no one waits. No one cares.
Worlds of empty emotion and pretending.
Secrets-- her secrets
Eat her from the inside,
Rubbing her raw,
She yields to her abandoned state.
Colorless she is,
Faceless and invisible.
Only wanting to end it all--

Her fight is not to.
Alone in the dark I stand
And wait,
Arms spread as if
An eagle's fate
Hung in the balance of
Good and great.
My body grows harder
As my limbs grow taughter,
Twisted roots and leaves
Fending for a mercenary's daughter.
I stand, still waiting,
Only the wind is controlling me--
A warm breathing or
Harsh wording
Can destroy my grandeur.

If I was gone,
Would the wind lose some power?
If there was nothing to shape,
Would the wind lose its strength?
Arborescent Definition: branched; having shape or growth like a tree.
Did you mean the words you said?
that i only complain about stupid s–
                    But I can't repeat the words you left me with
                                         (the words I call myself)
I never meant to tell you who I was,
But it just kept coming.
My sadness is introverted
And you pushed me enough
That it emptied like a tipped bucket,
Staining your memory of the girl
You once called
Every tear
Tightens the noose
Tied around my neck.

Eating has become a burden--
The noose bites as it
Tightens once again.

Ebbing away is my conscious mind,
Tipping like a scale as
The noose triggers a scream from my mouth.
Baraesthesia: ability to perceive pressure.
I feel so vulnerable.
My heart tells me, "This isn't me,
This isn't me!"
Alone in the
Lost for words but
Wanting to speak out.

I'm afraid of losing it,
Afraid of falling.
I won't rise up to the task,
I'm too afraid to fail,
Too afraid to fall.
Basophobia Definition: fear of falling which makes one afraid to stand up.
Once full of flight,
A feathery white,
A dove soaring through the clouds--
Caught in a storm,
A tempest trying to drown,
Unable to withstand it.
Now sinking to rock bottom,
The storm twisting the wind,
Gnarling the feathers,
Breaking the wings,
Dimming the white into gray.

Though I am unable
To fly like I once did,
I'm learning that birds don't need wings--
They only need to find their song.
Bathic: pertaining to depths, especially of sea.
I miss you.
I await the time that you will pick me up,
Spin me around,
Kiss my lips and make everything better.
Because you can, my Dear.
At least for a moment.
The feeling of freedom and fulfillment you give me
Is beyond,
Far greater than my
Weak words could describe.
I desire the place right next to you,
In your arms,
Where I find
You know those days
When someone tells you something
About yourself
That you should know
It is true,
But believe it is not?
Tears are dropped,
But not out of grief or despair.
Those precious moments when
You know for yourself
You are of worth,
That you are not what they call you,
That you are beautiful.

Thanks for giving me that moment.
One of my friends wrote the sweetest note to me, and it made me cry. He gave me hope and made me smile. Even though he doesn't know that I'm going through a rough patch, he has helped me in so many ways.

Beryl Definition: A type of emerald
Here is what I shall do: love without knowing, trust without completely understanding, understand without judgment, try even when I know I will fall short, be ready to get back up before I fall, smile when there is nothing left to smile at, laugh when times are light, kneel when times are dark, find the little things called happiness, wonder at the world, say the words that need to be said, ask the questions that others avoid, be honest when the only option is to lie, forgive others when they hurt me more than they will ever know, be willing to listen to whoever needs to talk, give hugs to people that need help, make friends with people I will never meet again, sprinkle fairy dust on everything to make it sparkle, AND find joy in being myself because every moment is of worth.
Beswink Definition: effort; endeavor
An endless track,
Meandering predicatively,
305 times around,
Yet never knowing what lies beyond this
Grizzled track.

My gray spirit presses on,
305 steps taken
Through this impenetrable fog,
Many more to go.

This bight winds on,
This way and that,
305 turns.
The speckles of this devious path
Cloud the search for meaning.

Only a breath,
Only a moment,
305 days.
Run away from the end,
Clear the path for me.
Bight Definition: a bend or curve in the shore of a sea or river.

Slides off my tongue,
The words I use to talk to you,
And the words I use to describe myself.
This was yesterday's poem.
Could you keep me safe and warm?
I've walked through the winter and
Picked up a case of frostbite.
I've seen it affect people's hearts,
Twisting their fears into reality as their light recedes,
Suffocated in the cold,
Like Caoimhn.
Calm Caoimhn, now chaos.
My toes are turning black, a sure sign I'm losing this fight,
Stacking up like the fights I've lost before.
My mind drifts,
Falling into this snowy drift, falling, falling,
Sleeping when there's snowflakes on my cheeks.
Turning blue in the subarctic temperatures,
I try to stay alive.
Breathing slowly, shivering,
I won't let my heart go cold,
But I still won't be safe from the frostbite.
I felt the impact of
Jumping into the unknown cavern of
Not knowing how hard
And broken it would be.
Sometimes I wonder...
Could anybody love me?
Would someone care to
Take the time
To discover my longings,
And the secrets that I cover?
Would there be one that
Wished I would be the one?
One he could watch shooting stars with,
Not to wish his girl was one of those
Falling rocks:
A Bolide,
Gone in an instant.

I am a shooting star.
I shine bright enough
For others to take notice.
They always
Wish I was theirs to own,
Wish to kiss my sweet lips,
And wish I didn't leave so quickly.
But they don't have the resolve to
Stop me.
They lust.
They don't love.
If they loved, they would stop me.

Love is eating ice cream at a park,
Dancing slowly at a party,
Doing homework together while talking about
Each other.
Love defines a personality.
Suddenly, your world isn't about
Anymore. It is about
You think about
Your other half,
Not yourself.

Love is watching the shooting stars
With two mugs of hot cocoa.
For me, love is a dream away.

Sometimes I wonder...
Who can love a shooting star?
Bolide Definition: a shooting star.

It is you Honesteyes ;)
Waves Crashing

Then sudden silence.

The ringing in your ears continue,
Deafening cymbals
As you start to drown.

Panic ensues,
Each breath a lake full of water,
An ocean.
Like the one you suffocate in.

Feeling weak,
On the verge of giving up the struggle,
Your heavy limbs pulling you down.

Gulp of air.
A pause.
You continue the fight.
You are closer to land than you think.
We stop for nothing.
Torn into.
Unable to fall far enough,
Fast enough.
Run to catch up,
They are just too far ahead.
Watch until wanting to run,
Unable to continue forward.

Why stop?
Brimborion Definition: a thing without value or use; something that is silly
I've already been broken before,
I didn't think you could break me more.
I will never let you see me cry.
Crying will never stop,
Someone else stomped on the pieces,
I once was a vase,
Now a crushed piece of pottery.
Don't touch me, I'm sharp glass.
How do you make me fall for you every second I see you?
I'm beginning to heal and mend,
And I will not push you away.

I am amazed and grateful for you, wonderful friend.
How long ago
Did you list your priorities?

The small ones,
Like me.
Forgotten at the bottom of the list.

I do understand.
I am only a reflection,
Without purpose,
******* the attention of those around me,
The ones that worry about
Insignificant things.

And stop lying.

You have let go of me,
You haven't let go of the words
Or past.

But of course you let go,
You could barely hold on to
Your own sanity.

I can only hold myself accountable to the crushing feeling I have now.
Written while listening to "Broken" by Lifehouse.
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