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Anna Banana Dec 2015
When she's feeling low, always let her know she's the nicest person you know.
She has a glow when she smiles. Her spirit takes flight because she can relate to your fate and you know she'll always be your best mate.
When she's feeling low, always let her know that one day her happiness with show.
Right now this is all just a stage. She'll need to page through all her lies only to cry.
Her life makes her feel like she's going to die from the inside. Only she's too shy and knows that life is the biggest lie.
Someday when she grows old, she'll be happy she's still alive. Mistake don't defy who you are and from those mistakes you can only grow. So don't feel despair my friend. You're worth it. Every smile, every laugh you produce brings life to those who believe they are die within.
So when she's feeling low, let her know that she will outgrow this blow.
Anna Banana Dec 2015
It was one odd night, when I was asleep in my bed.
When suddenly, I heard a sound that awoke me from my slumber.
There were three women standing round, looking down.
"Oh my, how she has grown, I could have sworn it was someone else!" The first women said with adoring eyes and a smile.
"Oh no, she's awoken, what a scene.. She looks so mean, perhaps a bad dream?" The second women shamed.
Although the third women had become ghostly pale. "Help, help.. Somebody please. I believe she see's me."
The three women then realized that I was gaping at their prattle.
"I see you." I mumbled, not believed my eyes.
The three jumped and took a step back.
"This is whacked, she must be faking." The first women proclaimed.
"This is unnamed, un-herd of! Come we must leave!" The second women yelped.
"She see's us! Perhaps we can be helped! She's of the first!" The third yelled.
"I... I see you" I said again.
This time they all turned their heads into my sight.. and with mighty fright the first women clapped and then all three disappeared in the air.
Still to this day, I think that night is weird. Who can say if it was a dream or if it was real?
Anna Banana Dec 2015
You Must Remember

   A man in black approached me, the sun began to die. The wind blew around me in dark shades of purple and blue. I heard no heart beat but my own. Death, he was arrived. Arrived to steal my soul and bring me down to the hot hell fires.

Death, how he beckoned me so. His chains grabbed my wrists and pulled me to his cloak. I felt the fear, hate and grief of all those he has killed. Death please take me. Shatter my soul into a million pieces, for it’s of no use to me now. Rip my heart out of my chest and leave me to bleed, for I have no room for a  heart. **** the life out of me ,for I do not deserve it. Death take me into your chamber of darkness, laugh at my agonizing screams and drink my blood with your thirsty teeth. Death I beg you, never let me see the light again.
But wait death, wait a minute. I remember the the sounds of dreamy laughs, I remember the radiating smiles that made me warm and I remember the love that I so desperately yearn for. Death, oh dear death release me from these chains! Death I’m suppose to grow old and die with love, not of hate. The world it used to be so grand and bright, now so full of fear and fright.
  Death have you ever felt love? I looked at hell through the eyes. Why do you not love and only despise? Death can you yourself die? Death released me from his chains and slowly moved away. Death are you scared? I asked him boldly. The room began to warm and the sun began to shine. Why are you not answering death?! He slowly backed away.
  “Fine, you shall live another day”
  Dec 2015 Anna Banana
Robert Frost
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
  Dec 2015 Anna Banana
Edgar Allan Poe
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore—
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping—rapping at my chamber door.
“’Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door—
        Only this and nothing more.”

Ah, distinctly I remember, it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lenore—
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore—
        Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
“’Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door—
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;—
    This it is and nothing more.”

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
“Sir,” said I, “or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping—tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you”—here I opened wide the door:—
      Darkness there and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, “Lenore!”
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, “Lenore!”
      Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon I heard again a tapping, somewhat louder than before.
“Surely,” said I, “surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore—
Let my heart be still a moment, and this mystery explore;—
    ’Tis the wind and nothing more.”

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made he: not an instant stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door—
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door—
    Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
“Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,” I said, “art sure no
Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore—
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!”
      Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning—little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door—
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
      With such name as “Nevermore.”

But the Raven, sitting lonely on that placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered—not a feather then he fluttered—
Till I scarcely more than muttered, “Other friends have flown before—
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.”
      Then the bird said, “Nevermore.”

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
“Doubtless,” said I, “what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore—
Till the dirges of his Hope the melancholy burden bore
    Of ‘Never—nevermore.’”

But the Raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore—
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
    Meant in croaking “Nevermore.”

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my *****’s core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o’er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o’er,
      She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
“Wretch,” I cried, “thy God hath lent thee—by these angels he hath
  sent thee
Respite—respite aad nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!”
      Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”

“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!—
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted—
On this home by Horror haunted—tell me truly, I implore—
Is there—is there balm in Gilead?—tell me—tell me, I implore!”
    Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”

“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us—by that God we both adore—
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore—
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.”
      Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”

“Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!” I shrieked,
“Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken!—quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!”
    Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”

And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
    Shall be lifted—nevermore!
  Dec 2015 Anna Banana
Emily Williams
you linger on me
my invisible friend
and keep me lonely
late at night.

remember last week
you said
we were in love
it sounded so strange
coming out of your mouth.

do you still think of me
when you're alone?
do i haunt your nights
like you haunt mine?
or am i a shadow of a memory
another girl left behind.
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