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Bb Maria Klara Nov 2015
I sat there and saw you at the dinner table.
To speak up, I couldn't. To get up, wasn't able.
But now if I tell you, it's not like you would listen...
Right now it is hell, not our usual heaven.

But you won't understand, even if I tried,
Even if my eyes dried from the hours I've cried.
I hoped that you would have been instead so gentle,
But now I feel broken, into pieces unsimple.

But I'll take the heat, from your offense so brash...
'Til burns can't be cooled by my tears and a splash;
And I do not know if you'll ever understand.
To be safe, I'll just do whatever you command.

Just like how I sat there, involuntarily froze.
I'll take my place with you, forget what I know;
Just like how I took it to myself not to cry,
I'd rather live with you than I'd want to die.

I'll take the nights tossing and turning in sheets,
Accepting my losses and suffering defeat.
I'll no longer move the way I used to...
I'll paralyze myself, like that night, for you.

Except this time it won't be fear or surprise,
It will be the product of too much from my eyes.
I'll choose to be with you, just how you like it.
Til death do us part, in the heartaches of it.
It's never too early or late to walk away from a potential life sentence.
I hide my poetry from you,
to hide the things so painfully true,
the things I don't have, the words to say,
so I keep them from you, but maybe one day...
I won't have to.
I'm sorry for hiding my poetry. There's so much I don't have the words to say
Bb Maria Klara Oct 2015
This is an era when men should think more than thrice,
of who should be president, who should be vice.
No candidate seems to be the right kind of nice,
and none seem to speak of any other than lies.

Should someone be righteous, it's them who don't run.
We just wish their rightness does see the sun.
However, some votes are rather triggered by guns
without thinking posterity, of daughters and sons.

It's quite dense to seek the usage of standard,
not all people out there are graduates of Harvard;
but using common sense isn't at all that hard,
and yet it's all nonsense on dire voting cards.

We might all have minds, but not all are used.
Eventually, all voting just ends up confused.
The persuasion of currency is always abused,
the one with most pocket is sadly most choosed.

In the end there is no one who will take the blame,
especially when country's all burrowed in shame.
The dilemma is cyclic, it's always the same.
Come to think of it, it's terribly lame.

It's not just the country, but the world that's gone lazy
of monarchies, parliaments, and democrazy.
At this rate, all futures are too **** hazy,
'specially thanks to human hypocrisy.

Power has been there, some killed for, some ****.
Presently, it's the most useless of thrills.
*Let me say this, heed me if you will,
Triumphs not who is good, but the less of two evils.
Well, this is something I don't write about all the time, but it's that time of the decade again.
Bb Maria Klara Sep 2015
I give you my way past midnight tears,
My likes and loves, my hopes and fears.

I give you my wildest moans and screams,
and most surreal hopeful dreams.

I give you more than my supply
of smiles to share and drops to cry.

I give you all there is to me:
The flaws and not flaws that you see.

I give you my tortured, broken mind,
perhaps 'twas pretty at first find.

I give you my weaknesses and strengths,
and the loves I swear of unending lengths.

I give you my joys as well as my sorrows,
the reasons why I hope of better tomorrows.

I give you and just you more than what I am.
Should I lose my mind I would not give a ****.

I give you the things that might make me perfect,
and also the mean things my devils reflect.

I give you my brightness and darkness as well,
and all I can give you, more than I can tell.

I give you your needs so that you would stay
and simply be with me each and every day.

I give you my body, my soul, my love,
hoping I'm something you won't dispose of.

I give you my life, freedom, and heart;
and all things I can't say in this way of art.

I give you my past, my present, my future.
Everything for you, my dear paramour.

I give you all it will take to convince,
that you are my love, my master, my prince.

I give you what I hope will be enough,
though I fall apart when times get rough.

I give you everything, my sun and stars:
The old and the new of my heart's battle scars.
This was written 8/20/2015. Minor revisions upon posting. I struggled, because I read the stanzas from bottom to top and I could not decide whether which way was better. I'm just going to stick close to how it was written as an emotional wasteland on my bedroom floor.
Bb Maria Klara Aug 2015
You pointed out the obvious,
how I was taking time;
and I was fairly cautious
not to be sublime.

I didn't want to tell you,
that I was just afraid,
that I feared every piece of rue
that made me feel so strayed.

I took every step slowly,
never wanting to part.
For in the end, I lowly
cradle my aching heart.

I would rather conceal our bliss
in awkward daylit hours
than spend a moment so amiss
in a place ever so sour.

I stalled to keep you near me
for happiness, I knew.
I hoped you always did see
and hoped you were happy too.

I stalled because when we are not
together, things do change.
For more time I wish I had fought
but home was out of range.

I stalled because I wanted,
(I'd say so without shame)
to never be so haunted
of the nights with barefaced blame.

I stalled because I didn't
want to argue tonight,
I don't know how to hint it,
but I fear a direct fight.

I stalled because I disliked
how it felt to be away.
Unknowing, fearing, nearing psyched
if I'll see you the next day.

I stalled because I couldn't
bear to let you go;
But I'm just a young woman
and we still have years to go.

I stalled because I didn't
want to feel alone.
Without you, just your imprint;
I feel lost and unknown.

I stalled because I love you.
I have loved you and I still do.
I still love you and I will love you,
and I will remain true.
I do not know what to note about this. Sorry.
Bb Maria Klara Aug 2015
I write of wrath, of rage and anger,
And murderous thoughts towards my betrayers.
I write with vigor and blood-lust,
In violent tempests, if I must.

I write of the madness she incurred,
In piercing fury, my heart concurred,
For solid as a rock it shows,
And red with rage my aura glows.

I write of indifference, my violated
persona can take only so much hatred.
Await me filling my soul with black,
Dark things as though there was ever a lack.

I write of the tolerance I have left,
For a loving patience of me was bereft.
In faces around me, I wish them only death,
My thought: I wish not the same air in our breath.

I write of the fires of my flaming hate,
The lack of gall in the events of late.
I no longer know how to remain humane,
in a state where anger drives one insane.
What is there to note about this... well, for one, I was very very angry at the time of writing. It has been a while since I have written at all, and I suppose this satisfied me for what I felt.
Bb Maria Klara Jun 2015
It is a curse, to feel so ******.
When love’s salvation is a fail planned;
When even at best, all is not enough,
there is no way to still be though.
When your strength attacks your weak-
ness and fear the hurt so refuse to speak,
wrap it in riddles and locks and questions,
bundle the worry in subtle depressions,
Carry it lightly, as though it a babe,
break not the fragile, make it be save.
And pray really hard it repairs itself,
so whole and displayed on a shelf.

A shattered pride, I do not mind,
I just now hope that I do find,
the courage to pick up the shattered pieces,
by emotional maladies, sentimental diseases.
How do I begin to try and heal,
after being struck at Achilles’ heel?
It’s what I can’t admit, feeling so pierced,
by one I had hoped to have me blissed.
A careful thing, to hide the hurt,
hide bleeding scars beneath a skirt.
all so quickly, down it falls.
my heart feels vacant, hollow halls.

but shallow, but true,
holding unreasoned rue.
emotional sighs, and the best of my lies.
to disguise and hide my bitterly cries.
a pathetic thing, to fear and self hate
the failure to entirely captivate.
The desire to be the center of the world,
too much for a pretty but stupid girl.
Perhaps it’s what makes me not at all enough.
possessiveness over the worsest of stuff.
but as I tell anyone, I don’t know if I care.
because trying is all that I could even dare.
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