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You call me a star
But even stars explode.

You call me a fairytale
But even fairytales end.

You call me beautiful
But things change
Grow old
Fade.

You hold me
And sometimes I feel safe
Other times I feel suffocated
Trapped
And want to runaway.

You get mad
When I say I’m tired
And I want to go home
It has nothing to do with you.

I have troubles in my mind
But how can I take care of them
When I’m staying up late
And save no space
To help the craziness
I’ve created.

I can’t remember the last time
I felt this way
Because I’ve never been here before;
How do I go on
Knowing I need independence
But also someone to love.

Your desires of me are destructive
They create expectations
I’ll never meet
I fear the only way
I can survive
Is if I drive away.

I have my Best Coast blasting
Penetrating my ear drums
It’s the only sound
That drowns out the voice
Telling me I’m full of mistakes
And I’ll never be happy.

Sing to me Bethany
Your music is the only remedy
That is able to save me
From this insane pain
Inside my crazy brain.
 Oct 2013 Anna Sophia
Lily Karter
somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
any experience, your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skillfully, mysteriously) her first rose

or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens; only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands
Poem by E.E. Cummings
 Oct 2013 Anna Sophia
John Keats
It keeps eternal whisperings around
Desolate shores, and with its mighty swell
Gluts twice ten thousand caverns, till the spell
Of Hecate leaves them their old shadowy sound.
Often 'tis in such gentle temper found,
That scarcely will the very smallest shell
Be moved for days from whence it sometime fell,
When last the winds of heaven were unbound.
Oh ye! who have your eye-***** vexed and tired,
Feast them upon the wideness of the Sea;
Oh ye! whose ears are dinned with uproar rude,
Or fed too much with cloying melody,—
Sit ye near some old cavern's mouth, and brood
Until ye start, as if the sea-nymphs choired!

— The End —