Say words worth quoting
Live a life worth reading
Die a death worth seeing
As poets we deserve it
we are worth it.

We will leave you in the midst
of a poetic truce, as you spill
experiences into our open palms.

Writing to make sense of what
has happened, nestling your
deepest secrets in our fingertips.

Our roots so deep in our poetry,
if you tried to unearth us, we would
shriek louder than banshee's.

Unravel our words, enter the
labyrinth of our minds, there are
sunsets in our stomachs, and
December runs through our veins.

We are the stars to your blank skies,
the pause between each ragged breath,
the tragedy suffocating the air.

We are the pause before the applause.
We are rarity's like Haley's comet
making you scramble for a telescope.

Only crows writhing with broken
necks are more twisted than the life
stories resting under our tongues.

We are poets, engraved in history,
fluent in all that is artistic and worldly.

Poetry a warm blanket we remain
hidden in on a cold winter morning.
Reality is a cold floor that our
bare feet are too scared to touch.

*By JannaLee Perry and Rapunzel

I saw this girl the other day
she was so shy until came
And opened up her  mouth and began to sing
she said
'I am afraid of death
but I will not go silently
I am not meant to go into the night
Because I have not been alive long enough
and I will fight I will be tuff
Because that's what you need to see inside of me
day did pass until I saw her face agene
so powerful as she leyed down in the hospital bed
asking me how I could end this way
she said
"I have not gone silently
I fought for life an to be free
Until my dying breath you see I cannot go  silent into the night"
I did not see her agene until she was layed into he funeral bed
Her head apon the pillow as she was lowered down into her grave
I read her eulogy, something she wrote just for me
she said..
"I am not afraid anymore, I know your heart must be sore
But now that you are reading this, know it couldn't have turned out any other way...but I did not go silent, no I fought until my dying breath so that I could say...death is easy and life that's hard no go on its your life ad mine is gone

Lot of liars built a fire, with tongues that speak in languages only Angels understand. You talk behind closed doors, and pray and pray and pray. Judas, open your eyes kid.

There are a lot of things we should stop, and even more things we should start doing.

Fell heal over heads
          in love with a poet,
  he's mostly a rhyme schemer
       likes Poe and his dark Raven,
  in actuality,  I'd fancy him more if
    he were like Pablo Neruda, but I digress
I'm much accurately fashioned after Emily Dickinson
        chasing heaven's June bugs toing and froing,
we'd meet at a perfectly superfluous coffee shop
    he'll be murmuring elegiac pentameter
I'm simply looking to devour precious words,
    we'd argue about abstract destinations,  
            straight forward persuasions and
               premonitions of wayward ink allusions,
some days I want to claw mine own eyes out
               amid all that nonsensical alliteration
  others, I want to rip out embellishments
                   of his black heart's magnification,
he mutters tumult under his breath,
     states he's abundantly sickly tired of all my
         fanatical froufroutant  flourished fantasies,
albeit, we're mild mannered artistes
         of overstatement and simplification
               thus, we continue laying it on thickly
I, with my hyperbolic cuppa tea and honey,
       he's all brass tacks, no nonsense black coffee
ultimately, we reservedly seek gratification,
      envisioning who functionally makes it first
to a finished line of manifestations's publication,
           in eternity's poetic intentions and beyond