The blossoms fell,
for their first time in years.
The need had vanished, almost as though it was never there.
However it's traces remained.
The music that reminded her of the pain and heartbreak,
the poetry that could force those times into memory,
The thousands of tears shed for his well being.
Finally she felt their weight lighten.
A new life,
A new beginning.
She has felt moments like these before.
Small glances of times where her pain fluctuated from unbearable to dissipated.
She realizes her first love will always hold an important part of her heart,
but peace will slowly make it's way back,
These restful moments in life never fail to remind her that.
Loneliness is a hurtful emotion that grew at her very roots,
it easies itself into every tear,
every crack,
And it may always be this way,
but time heals,
or so they say.
She just may need more than most.

Maybe My Life was meant to be t
                                                               ­ h
                                                              ­         a
                                                               ­                 t
of a G
                  h
                         o
                                s
                             ­         t.
Forever wandering,
                


Empty corridors, intruding into their spaces.
M                                                        ­                                  .
y                            ­                                                      
cries  ech­oing into their acoustic cavern,
                                                         ­                  T
                                                               ­ h
                                                     e
                                           y
fade as I realize how alone I really am,                                  .
M                         ­                                                                 ­                      .
y                                        ­                                                                
         Invisibility confines me to                myself, -----------------------------
                 Hides                                        
        me                        from
Their                 eyes.
          Filled           with hatred.
             I was             always alone,
                    from the day,         my calendars first flipped
                         A                                                                ­                       Not
                         kind                                                             ­     everything
                                warm family,               is as it seems                   .
                              A wave goodbye            as dad takes off in his truck,
seeing new sights and adventures,          without any thought to those   who                         are left behind,
                   A mom who's tried           so  much,                                                          
that her remarks                            and smiles seem to fade away.
a little sister hurt from torture,                      and beheaded by harsh words that seethe                                              as poisonous as venom
A birth family                   far from loving
friends that constantly leave,              who are as precious as gold,
but abruptly              disappear,
"everything will fade away, it will all disappear,
until
          only
                        I
       ­                           am
                                   ­             left,
To wander empty spaces for eternity.

Is there something I missed?
Was I wrong to believe our distance was not that large a gap?
Is that not the truth of the matter?
When did we begin to drift apart?
I'm used to being alone.
Loneliness and it's darkness is all that I've known,
But could the first rays of light,
only be an illusion?
I was so happy when I thought we were close.
I've never had someone as close as you,
so much so that I felt comfortable telling you any woe that might appear.
You are so special to me,
but Is this only one sided?
Like everything else?
Am I not a close friend to you as well?
I cannot feel your pain during this trial.
I'm numb to loss,
yet I see your tears,
and feel your broken heart by your expression.
I wanted you to lean on me,
the obligation I'm proud to have as your friend.
Are we not close?
Was I a fool to believe that you see me as a friend?
So many times I've been deceived by liars and cheats,
I was so happy just hanging out with you.
I've never known what it felt like to stroll a mall just acting like teens for once.
I'm sorry that I'm never good enough,
I'm sorry that I can't be your rock when you need stability.
I wish I could've helped.
I wanted more than anything to soothe your tears,
but I am not that in which I thought I was.

Have you ever heard,
How her eyes are described?
Their blue as the ocean,
As deep as it's dephs,
And mysterious as the undertow.
This comparison is all too common.
Blue is always the sea,
Maybe the cloudy sky,
As her head is above the clouds.
But his eyes,
The sky isn't far enough,
The sea not deep enough,
His eyes portray the universe,
Glittering with it's stars,
Beyond our galaxy.
his emerald eyes hold fragments of comets and shooting stars.
Wishes and desires.
I can never read his vast stars,
How the fisherman could read the changing of the tides,
Or the shallow stream of stars to gaze upon.
But his eyes hold a universe's worth of stars,
So many I can't chart them all.
They shine with potential.

Why must I splatter my mind across the page?
All of my bent up confusion and now happiness,
simply ink across the page.
How many poems have I wrote about you?
How many times have you entered my thoughts?
At least a dozen poems,
at least a thousand thoughts.
I overthink everything I do.
My mind constantly overworked,
and underpaid,
for all of it's forced labor.
And yet,
It seems unreal,
as though I'm living in a dreamworld.
I must be thinking too much.

That is my catch phrase,
I'm sorry for never realizing,
I'm sorry for the pain I caused,
that everything happened wrongly,
that i'll never understand,

I've said it so many times,
my chin pointed towards the floor,
my eyes shadowed by sorrow and regret,

I'm sorry I'll never be enough,
I'm sorry I made you cry,
that I caused your smile to fade,
sorry for the things I've said,

I hurt you and others,
relentlessly,
mercilessly,
and unknowingly
stabbing them,

you see,
Im sorry for everyone i meet,
because I'll only cause them trouble.

Why do my words fail me,
when i need them most?
Wy can I not express,
these feelings you've brought upon me?
This embarrassment stems from being naive.
The newness of your kindness,
your passion and attention,
something I once believed impossible to receive.
But you came into my life,
a bird chirping a new tune,
bringing my life into spring.

Dear Soulmate,
How many?
How many lovers will I mistake for you?
How many kisses until my lips reach yours?
How many, "I love you"s,
The beautiful lie,
Until it becomes a truth upon your ears?
How many tears,
heartaches?
Sleepless nights,
Until I can sleep in your embrace?
I miss someone I've yet to even meet.
I love you,
But I don't even know you.

The human heart has guarded itself.
It builds layer upon layer of walls.
A different mask for every occasion,
and few will ever see what lies beneath.
Some walls you have created,
others were built for you.
With or against your own wishes.
Until you loose yourself in them,
And can't distinguish yourself,
from that of the mask.

So much time had passed,
Since I last felt sorrow this deep.
So much time had passed,
Since I last felt it's intensity.
Why do my sorrows drown me?
And my joys elate me beyond belief?
Why must woes taste so bitter,
And happiness so sweet?
Recently my joys were all around me,
Surrounding me like rays of fresh sunlight.
Now darkness slithers into the deepest crevices,
And how I know it's misery.
I wish to feel the warm winds
Those that ride happiness,
A calming air.
But only a drizzle of tears will come.
It's droplets scorch my skin,
As they fall,
Wishing to bid them adieu,
I rub my cheeks.
sadness and I are old acquaintances,
leaving me as a victim of this relationship.

We are a poem,
My mom and I.
But I’ll never let her read it.
We are the kind of poem who laughs over pizza,
And my little brother crawling on the floor.
We share stories of her history,
Each one a fossil,
I try to recreate its towering beast.
But even so,
I can never get a word in.
A mask was created,
As to never let her in,
Block her from meeting the real me.
I crave her acceptance,
But hide through lies.
That’s the kind of poem we are.
I wish we had more in common,
Things we like to do together,
But excuses slither from her tongue,
As if these snakes are second nature to her.
Most nights I dream of what life would’ve been like,
Had I stayed with her,
And the nightmares begin,
Soon I catch myself crying in my sleep.
Because of her,
I am scared of myself,
And any potential for evil I may contain.
This is my least favorite poem,
The kind I wish I could chop off,
But somehow it’s seeded itself into a heart,
And grew there,
A wilted tainted tree which should have never sprouted.
We are a poem,
My mom and I,
But I’ll never let her know.

Before it was arguing and disagreements that lent it's time to them,
but now that contact was scarce little jokes that made up their conversation.
Anything from her inability to speak english,
or the creation of her own language that couldn't be English nor Japanese, but somewhere in-between had taken up their messages,
crossing the screen back and forth.
A few weeks ago it could've been laughter over a text book assignment her teacher gave her,
and last night,
it was about how much she craved pizza from the Snack Shack and mom's home made dippin' Chicken.
The reply being something along the lines of, "Me cook"
pursued by bubbly laughter.
it's these little jokes and joys that help.

I wish you could understand how often I have these thoughts,
these wants of mine,
that I slowly tolerate and repress.
The joy of wanting to surprise you with a sudden hug,
or to lay my head against your shoulder.
But I am a mouse,
too afraid to come out from my hole,
too worried about how my heart will burst from my chest.
yet these thoughts remain.
Nagging at me,
wishing I could bring up my courage enough to.

I am capable,
Of many things.
Of using large words,
To tell you that your excuse was nothing more than a confabulation,
Or how ominous the sky is at night,
especially when your alone.
I am capable,
Of
Making you smile when things havent went your way,
Or lending my ear to those in need,
I'm capable of drawing you,
in a series of words,
to express the aura you give me.
I'm capable of wearing lace and ribbons,
Or being clumsy and cute.

But

I am Capable,
of Many things.
My words become daggers,
piercing your skin,
I slide them down,
Only to watch the red drip from your spine.

I am capable of ******,
If only I could find a way,
in an arsenal of possibilities.
but I'd rather not.

I am capable,
of tricking you into trust,
Only to tell your deepest secrets,
and watch as your world falls.

I am capable,
of ripping my own heart to shreds,
and I have on many occasions.

I am capable,
Of many things.
Do not underestimate me.

As a kid I wanted to bike,
to be able to skate,
I wanted to be active,
and keep up with my athletic cousins,
our only friends growing up.
But I was not made to endure such labors.
In fact,
I'd sooner give up.
Strange for someone as stubborn as me.
I never learned how to ride a bike after falling off one too many times.
I couldn't skate after needing to hold tightly onto anything I could grasp.
After frightening roller coaster rides when I was little,
I soon gave that up as well.
I never was a thrill seeker.
And yet here I stand.
After failing time and again when I was little,
I soon accepted I just can't cartwheel.
And yet with achy elbows,
and everything else that plummeted to the floor,
only to rather become a roll,
here I go again.
Trying to do a cartwheel.
Just once more.

When friendship seems to be in play, I'm no more than a novice,
I wish to understand them,
I wish to be part of them,
my glowing, shining friends,
Their kindness illuminates everything they entangle,
If only I knew what to do,
when I talk to them every possible subject alludes me,
nonsense of books I read or what I've done recently clatters from the abyss that seems to be my mouth,
I bore them with my unneeded knowledge,
When situations arise in their presence,
my only answer is to run away and escape to a place that I can be angry or cry without hurting anyone.
I'm too serious,
and can't make them laugh,
my wish is to be the reason they smile,
but all I seem to create is hurting agony,
and a failure of a friendship.
It's always been this way; and I've always been terrible when it comes to others.

"Look, it's my blood!"
Words written on paper,
Oozing red,
Her finger leaking.
Her unable to see this twisted logic.
Trip her,
Lick her,
Push her,
These creatures of darkness stalk her.
You see an odd girl,
laughing over blood,
Giddy over absurdities,
I see a hurting child,
Haunted by inner demons,
Confused through mental insecurity,
Trapped within her own mind.
"It's not her fault"
But they run from her,
As if it were.

I was once told,
That anything personal is also universal.
I am not alone.
My thoughts and feelings are not new occurrences but have been felt and thought before me.
You share my heart,
those who read my poems.
We can see eye to eye,
and yet we never met.
I read your heart as I read your poems.
and you read mine as you absorb my words.
But when you read my poems,
and if your taken with them,
a piece of your heart understands that I am writing feelings we share.
Not only are they shards of my heart,
but reflections of yours.
I bare my heart for you to see,
but rather than being separated by glass,
I hold your heart as well,
for you to come to realizations,
for you to better understand your self.
This is the purpose of poetry.
So not only is what I write deeply personal,
But humanly universal.

Dear Soulmate,
I'm sorry it's taking so long to meet me,
Every minute,
Every hour,
Every year,
Every decade spent,
Is so that you'll get to see the me designed for you,
Every trial we go through,
All so that I'll grow into the girl you meet,
Or you,
The perfect one for me.
And maybe your lonely,
Sad,
Or scared there without me.
And I'm sorry,
I long to be by your side.
But it'll all be worth it,
The day I finally meet you.
I'll love you.
I wanna meet you.

There's a caged child within me,
Somedays it's happy and immature.
Other days it decides to throw a temper tantrum.
There's a caged child within me,
I poke it with a stick,
and starve it.
It begs for food,
any morsel will do,
but I call it ungrateful and filthy.
The child keeps screaming.
It won't shut up.

********

There's a girl out there.
Somedays she'll smile,
It's a beautiful sight.
Other day's she's sad and crying.
There's a girl out there.
She pokes me with a stick,
And won't feed me.
I try to pretend I'm not hungry,
But my stomach keeps rumbling.
She gets angry,
and yells a lot.
It hurts,
and I can't stop my tears.
I don't want her to know.

Now she's crying.
She says she's sorry.
But
Im still
Hungry.

I wish I could dedicate a poem to you,
show the world how much I admire you,
but were that to happen ...
all would be lost.
I want to represent you in words,
to paint you for who you are,
but ... I'm a fearful person,
believing in such nonsense as being invisible to the outside world,
and that everyone I care for will disappear.
For I see myself as a lonely whisper at night,
One to gone unheard.

A blur.
That's the best name for a day like today.
Where it impedes on your vision,
as it does memory.
Where little is accomplished,
and yet so much needs to be done.
Where dizziness settles in,
and all you're doing is just existing.
Days like this are perfect for napping ...
until you can't anymore and are laying there ...
silently existing again,
With nothing but your thoughts to accompany you.
Your screaming thoughts that refuse to go away.
Not the sweet love driven ones,
capable of fixing any mountain of gloom,
but that created from worry and anxiety,
where everything seems muffled,
in a dark hue.
Where every worry and insecurity,
that usually creep in the corners of the mind,
come forth to haunt you.
If anything at all,
today was a blur.

Why are you not afraid?
Why will you not run away?
Please hurry,
before it's too late.
One such as you,
could never hurt a thing,
but you could never see,
what lies beneath my tears,
the monster that lurks inside.
Run before it gets you,
before you see it's face.
Please hurry away,
That's what always happens,
they always go away.
Because this beast is unshackled,
a breach in the wall,
I could never hold it down.
Why do I see kindness in your eyes?
The emerald gems gleaming,
where there should be fear?
Please I beg of you,
to run away.
Before this beast eats you alive.

I've been scheming so many things,
figuring out how to show my love for you.
I think I found the best way,
I know what I need to do.
And yet,
I hesitate.
Not because I don't want to go through with it,
I've given it plenty of thought,
but because I'm not courageous enough.
I've stood on stages,
dancing for hundreds,
read personal poems for groups,
Done new things by myself with the worry of messing up,
yet none have left me so anxious as this.
Yet it leaves me embarrassed.
Nervous for the day to come.
I know what I must do,
but this knowledge brings worry with it.

How much time has passed,
since you last spoke to me?
How much,
since I've last seen you?
The first in a long time,
that i've been able to hold a happy conversation with you,
where drama, nor yourself were completely on your mind.
How much do I need to beg,
in order to be in your life?
How much time will continue to pass,
until you realize that there's only one me,
and that no one can hurt me like you.
I wish for time to pause when you smile,
when your eyes glisten,
when life stops hating you.
But it slowly moves on,
giving you new griefs.
How much time will pass until your satisfied,
until you can truly smile once more.

Look! Over there!
Can't you see him?
That shadowy figure.
He catches your glance every now and then,
Smiles smugly and then stares.
What? You say you can't see him?
That you don't know what I'm talking about?
Well to be honest, I can't see him either.
But she says he's there.
He whisper's words during class,
making it hard to concentrate.
He tells you all that your worth:
nothing. You have no value.
That you need him to survive.
That your lost without him.
Look at your family, everyone you love.
Oh don't worry,
he only threatened to **** them a little.
stop doing this you scream,
stabbing holes into the walls,
as if this could stop him.
They can't see him,
no one can .... except you.
A smile spreads across his face,
"You belong to me, and only me."

The massive door  cries its opposition as it squeaks open,
The white walls and ceilings loom over me,
a small figure in a brilliant foreground.
Walking into the common room I find a large couch,
uninhabited.
I am a lone echo wandering these empty halls searching for the other guests.
But none of them are to be found.
A eerie sensation follows me,
Eyes roaming the room,
targeting me.
I am not alone.
As though reading my thoughts,
shadows creep out into the open,
The missing guests stand before me.
Friendly faces twist into snarls,
Smiling  with menacing lips.
Each of them accounted for.
Each of them a close friend of mine.
With a quaky voice I whisper a hello,
only to see their grimaces grow.
Something cool is suddenly pressed into my stomach,
The metallic smell rises as I clutch the wound and collapse.
All of them,
Were Murders.

Why is it that your so misleading.
Your every action shown to be that of a hero,
but in reality your the puppet master.
Pulling others stings to recreate your plan.
You call them pawns, game pieces,
who can be used and abused to fit your schedule.
Yet they call you friend without realizing your sick intentions.
You cause flames to leapt amoung them,
to become a hero,
when all you are is a coward.
That is the life you lead:
Izaya Orihara

The moonlight glints through the windows,
The light playing in your hair.
How I wish the clock would slow,
And this time continue forever.
I know that he will come,
And our time alone will hault.
But for now,
For this magical moment,
Let me learn more about you,
Flood myself with knowledge of you,
What makes you smile,
Which memories are bitter sweet.
Times where that laugh played through the air,
A melody so soft and sweet.
Or when you shed those glistening tears,
When something touched your heart.
Flood me with knowledge of all these little details.
But don't let the clock race on.
For he will come,
And our time will hault,
Just slow the ever ticking clock,
Let these memories last a little longer.

gazing into the icy glass,
my eyes entranced by it's appearance,
only to gasp at the other me,
mercilessly smiling an alluring crinkled face,
My twin stuck in the past that I stare at,
In the halls there is everyone,  and no one,
I go unnoticed,
I make no difference,
I stare into that mirror as I walk through my daily life,
she criticizes my every motion,
my every word,
my voice is a faint whisper in all the static,
Laughing,
gossiping,
shouting,
it surrounds me, hiding me from a world I've never known,
their world of the light,
I've never entered those glistening gates,
but instead cowered in my corner,
hiding myself from them,
I try to be noticed, not wanting to disappear,
I wave good morning: a voice replies each time,
"maybe I'm not invisible"
as my hearts wonders this,
the mirror replies with so many answers,
I get stuck in it's trap,
the trap of my past:
"your never good enough,
look at yourself,
They always leave,
everyone will just disappear,
just become invisible again,
no one will ever notice,
you shouldn't have spoken"
My nagging mirror has me in it's grasp again,
and I've been trapped ever since I could remember.

The floor is sticky,
It tugs at my feet as to keep them in place,
And refuses to let me abandon it.
Liquid chocolate courses through my veins,
Rushing to elate me,
Break the bond the floor has made.
A smile crinkles the edges of my cheeks,
And effort pushes my calves as if to move me from place.
Can someone cut away this floor,
So that I can hurry?
I need to get there.
Let me go.
Set flames to my tracks so my steps are quickened.
The fire lapping at my heels,
As I blaze my trail.
I need to get there.
Let me go.
Could someone set flames to my heart,
So I never forget this longing?
The fire reminding me to continue,
And I can reach it.
I need to get there.
I have to go.
But this floor pains me,
It covers my toes in goo,
and it oozes,
caramel melting,
I can get there,
But I'm stuck.
I have to go.
Free me.

Dear Soulmate,
I hope your out there.
Are you listening?
Sometimes I'm trapped,
my thoughts being the walls that hold me in place.
I question your existence.
I wish you'd find me soon.
I know I'm insecure,
I have so many flaws.
Could you wrap me in warmth,
kiss my tears away?
Cradle me with your time?
I don't want your money,
Or objects.
I just wish you'd enjoy being by my side.
I might push you away at first,
My walls as thick as my tears.
I'll feel too much,
Be shy one moment,
outgoing the next.
I ramble on,
Or not at all.
I'm easily jealous,
over emotional.
I hate myself.
But could you love me anyway?
Know that I'm working on it,
and love me where I'm at?
I'm by no means perfect,
But im happy.
And I want you to be too.
I no longer am a weak princess,
needing to be saved.
But I'm moving forward,
Hoping our fates will meet.
I love you,
Please find me.

Lacey Bows,
Ribbons in pastel,
Poofy dresses,
Victorian style,
This is my aesthetic,
An aspiring ******.
Garters and stockings,
Bows and floof,
Poofy in pink,
Sweet and blue,
Cuteness sourounds me.

Morning light,
Heavy eyes,
Just a dream.
Jeans & a Tee,
Patting my pillow,
I'll be back again.

Music is another form of art,
but is it that different from poetry itself?
Words with meaning flow from the singer,
Just as the poet speak's their words and they are coated deeper reasoning.
Music is wrapped in sounds,
that are taken to heart.
Poems are wrapped in written words,
read and loved by the heart.
How do they differ?
Are they not the same?
The only comparative difference is the sounds that are heard
and the way they are sung.