She is lost
but she refuses to ask for directions
Because she has always been good at navigating
and she will refuse to acknowledge
that suddenly
she doesn't know
where she is anymore

So instead she wanders
around in circles
For days, weeks, months
And as the days blend into one
she finds that she doesn't even recognise
her surroundings anymore
and she can't even remember
how it felt before she was lost

Meanwhile her friends and family
don't notice she is missing
Too busy with their own lives
to realise she is no longer there

And now she's scared
That she has wandered too far
and too deep
That when she screams for help
Nobody will hear her

Once I seen a human ruin
In a elevator-well.
And his members was bestrewin'
All the place where he had fell.
And I says, apostrophisin'
That uncommon woful wreck:
"Your position's so surprisin'
That I tremble for your neck!"
Then that ruin, smilin' sadly
And impressive, up and spoke:
"Well, I wouldn't tremble badly,
For it's been a fortnight broke."

Then, for further comprehension
Of his attitude, he begs
I will focus my attention
On his various arms and legs--

How they all are contumacious;
Where they each, respective, lie;
How one trotter proves ungracious,
T' other one an alibi.

These particulars is mentioned
For to show his dismal state,
Which I wasn't first intentioned
To specifical relate.

None is worser to be dreaded
That I ever have heard tell
Than the gent's who there was spreaded
In that elevator-well.

Now this tale is allegoric--
It is figurative all,
For the well is metaphoric
And the feller didn't fall.

I opine it isn't moral
For a writer-man to cheat,
And despise to wear a laurel
As was gotten by deceit.

For 'tis Politics intended
By the elevator, mind,
It will boost a person splendid
If his talent is the kind.

Col. Bryan had the talent
(For the busted man is him)
And it shot him up right gallant
Till his head began to swim.

Then the rope it broke above him
And he painful came to earth
Where there's nobody to love him
For his detrimented worth.

Though he's living' none would know him,
Or at leastwise not as such.
Moral of this woful poem:
Frequent oil your safety-clutch.Porfer Poog.

I walk in the middle of the night.
I walk to escape.
I walk so fast.
From somewhere to somewhere.
To be free.
To the right.

It’s not easy to carry on.
Everyday is a trap.
Too confused to look around.
What’s hope and what’s hole.
But I need to move on.
Far from someone who cares with no soul.
Free from the darkness.

I walk to the new chapter of life.
I’m so far from perfect.
Near from enemies.
And I don’t wanna give up.
Maybe I’m gonna die, but rest in peace is better than come back to the place of pain.

Keep moving forward to the light.
I’m walking to find a new one, a new me.
I don’t wanna live with lies.
I don’t wanna hurt myself anymore.
I don’t wanna get lost.
I have my trust.
I walk with tears.
I’m not okay but it’s okay.
Crying is stronger than giving up.
Carry on and carry on.
Someday I believe I will smile because I can see.
The beauty of peace.
Love is in me.

I walk into the future.
No way to surrender and no time to rest.
Sometimes I feel so sleepy.
Sometimes I feel strong to think too much.
But here I am to say that God is with me.
It doesn’t matter who’s try to stop me.
I will keep walking.
And I will never walk alone.
I walk for myself.
I hope for something real.

I walk to fall in love with myself.
Again.


(z.h)

She closed the eyes that he swore were beautiful, and let a shaky puff of air leave her lungs. If it was her last she wouldn't have cared because forcing every one after felt like dying. The pain washed from her chest down her arms to the very tips of her fingers and lingered only for a second. It came when the breathing halted, when her body jolted in silent sobs.
She was very good at pretending, and had mastered the falsification of every emotion that she allowed to reach the surface of her face. Some days, though, she just couldn't hide the churning waves in her stomach and blamed any discomfort others could see on exhaustion.
No one knew the hollowness that ironically filled her heart. She couldn't stand the thought of being just another over dramatic girl seeking attention. She refused to cry. Crying, she had learned, got you no where. No one cared when you cried, they just blurted a calloused, "What's wrong," and usually just left it alone. Sadness and reasons for it were just pushed aside and buried because they didn't matter in the real world. No one cared that you hurt, that you needed help. You weren't even allowed to ask for support; as soon as you did you were called weak, a cry baby. She didn't want to be a cry baby...

Where do you go
When your house
Is no longer a home
When you no longer feel safe in your bed
Because you can hear their words
And your cheerleaders
Are the ones holding you back

Where to you turn
When you supposedly greatest supporters
Become your greatest critics
When the gossiping girls in the bathroom
Have insults
That seem like elementary insults
Compared to the things you hear at home

When do you decide
Enough is enough
When they are to afraid to repeat their words
To your face
When you can't tell them things
For fear they will use it against you

When do you decide it is time to spread your wings
And leave the nest that has become a death trap
It doesn't matter if I can or cannot fly
I would gladly plummet downwards
As long as I escaped

When do you finally stop denying
What once were your parents
Are now simply your
"Legal Guardians"

Dark and lovely as the African night sky
with as many gifts as there are stars on high.
I am the light that shines in darkness

The lion and the king, the ostrich and the
Silkworms to me are the spirit of life,
As mere mortal men make love tonight
I am composing the perfect poem
with one wicked indulgent on my mind
to make memories that will last forever,
Please surround me with a sphere of
powerful, brilliant white light

When winter is over I will
Give praises to jah
Before i forget, the moaning winds,
the naked branches on the trees
Long hours, crazy commutes
I beg you to give praises with a poem
for little favors with poetry
Let us forget the negativity and negative critters

Dark and lovely as the African night sky
With many gifts as there are stars on high

Tonight, I shall shine,
I am the dark temptress,
driven by winter madness
.

i thought that if i
squeezed my eyes shut tight enough,
the tears would collect
in the back of my throat and i could
swallow them -
wouldn't have to face
their hot,
wet,
attitude.

i thought that if i
left uncovered
a soft, pale collarbone,
the searching for thoughts beneath
that satin skin would
quickly fall away.

i thought that if i
tied down the fist
knocking, knocking, knocking
from the inside of my chest
i could keep it quiet

          keep them all quiet

          but the knocking never stops

and the knocking
     fuels the thoughts
and the thoughts
     fuel the tears

and i
have lost
all control

There's a danger in poison
that does not know of its own toxicity
Poison that offers itself garnished
with soft grey eyes
and intoxicating words
that could subdue even the most strong willed
So I'm drunk off your kiss
and impaired by your touch
Because even your fingers are laced with venom
and when you told me you weren't poison
I believed you
Because I am as weak as they come
and it wasn't until I was lying alone,
struggling for breath,
that I realized
just how toxic you were