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 Jul 2013
Tatiana Arredondo
We don’t ask the questions we want to ask
out of fear of the answer,
or of the lie.

“Would you miss me if I went away?”
“How much do you love me?”
“Would you visit my grave?”

“ And If I died,
would you cry?”
 Jul 2013
Tatiana Arredondo
The human life is a curious thing.
And what makes us,
is as fleeting as it’s brought.

And those moments?
we're all of them.
And we carry each one,
everywhere we go.

Every day,
is filled with them.
And every night,
is a funeral.

For the memories
and the moments
that will never repeat.

Sit in bed
and realize
the continuity of time.

And that insomnia,
is simply the inability to
*let go.
 Jul 2013
Tatiana Arredondo
"God I hope i'm not wrong or doing anything bad by writing to you
directly. Jesus is cool but in prayers it just seems like religious red-
tape. I hope you're everything I hope you are. I hope that doesn't
insult you.

I've heard some pretty awful things.

I hope you're kind, and understanding, lighthearted but fierce.
Like a Dumbledore of sorts.

I hope you're the one that's making me sleepy. keep me from these
bad thoughts and protect me because I'm weak. Because you're every
ounce of strength I could ever hope to have."
 Jun 2013
Tatiana Arredondo
So anxious I'm jumpy,
Internally deflated and still hoping.

So disappointed I don't want to care.
But if you came calling I'd still answer

in a heart beat.
 Apr 2013
Tatiana Arredondo
Make me forget the existence of time
so that I can lay with you forever.

I hope to one day recognize your scent
only to crave knowing more of you.
I want to know all of you,
your mind is fascinating,
your opinions are flooring,
your voice makes sense,

your soft hands are tempting and
your body is that of a God.
I can only hope to explore you further.

To enjoy watching the shift in your eyes
when I take you in.
All I ask is that you grip my hips while I do so.
I promise to kiss you greedily.
 Apr 2013
Tatiana Arredondo
I miss.
Whose name I trace on my lips with my finger tips.
Such sweet bliss.
Thats you.
My morning and my lovely moon.
But your absence is agony
And I fight to breathe,
But air that lacks your scent is not fresh.
Nights without your voice are just as good as deaf.
Wake me from this coma.
Save me from your silence.
Forgive what it seems like and see whats hidden in plain sight.
My love.
For you.
Is more infinite than the universe.
Hold my hand until we find its end.
 Nov 2010
Kayla Lynn
I'm drained in every way possible
I can't turn to the pen
     Can't turn to the bottle
            Can't turn to my friends

Who will listen
When I have nothing
                                      To say?

There is the same constant
T o r n a d o
Swirling in my mind
R i p p i n g  
Raging chaos
B r e a k i n g  
It's way through what
L i t t l e
Sanity is left

My eyes are   burned
Bright red   blisters
Squeezing   shut
Tired of life, tired of   blinking
Tired of seeing the  world

I'm exhausted
Every cell          aches
Every breath              crumples
Every word                                 snaps

I'm not making sense
Not that I ever did,
But still
Things are different

Every since I babysat that
Little girl
Who   held   my   hand
At her bedside
As I made up a story
About the princess
Who waited
            And waited
                    And waited
To be   s a v e d

And it wrecked me
When she asked me to
Stay with her
Because she was
Of the dark and
Of sleeping alone and
Of the monsters in her mind

It destroyed me because
        I could relate so well
               So I stayed to protect her
For just a night

I stayed even though
        She wasn't mine
                 And it broke my heart
That she wasn't mine

Because I don't think
Will ever love me
To father my child

So I will never be a

No matter how much I
To be one
No matter how many
Drop at the thought

It suddenly c l i c k e d
In the darkness
With the monsters
That I may never actually
Give another
The gift of  

And now my thoughts are
Murky water
And my skin is
Smothered a s h
And my heart is
A deep black hole

It breaks me

I will  n e v e r  have a little girl
W r a p  her miniature hand
Around my        f i n g e r
And  w h i s p e r  delicately
I love you,

© November 2010 Sarah Lynn
 Nov 2010
read this book they said-
read this book it's so wonderful-
read this book it will change your life-

That book I did read...

While I read the book late one dreary night
It had taken a hold of me with a serious bite
It held my hand in it's grip
Yet the pages I read did not rip
This book began to chew up toward my elbow
Sharp and quick like the deadly crossbow
Bending my arm causing ****** harm
I tried to toss it aside
Only thing was it ate faster up my pride
I could only think to myself...
They lied
Can it be this book that bites the hand that reads it will cause me to die?
 Nov 2010
Siegfried Sassoon
You like my bird-sung gardens: wings and flowers;
Calm landscapes for emotion; star-lit lawns;
And Youth against the sun-rise ... ‘Not profound;
‘But such a haunting music in the sound:
‘Do it once more; it helps us to forget’.

Last night I dreamt an old recurring scene—
Some complex out of childhood; (***, of course!)
I can’t remember how the trouble starts;
And then I’m running blindly in the sun
Down the old orchard, and there’s something cruel
Chasing me; someone roused to a grim pursuit
Of clumsy anger ... Crash! I’m through the fence
And thrusting wildly down the wood that’s dense
With woven green of safety; paths that wind
Moss-grown from glade to glade; and far behind,
One thwarted yell; then silence. I’ve escaped.

That’s where it used to stop. Last night I went
Onward until the trees were dark and huge,
And I was lost, cut off from all return
By swamps and birdless jungles. I’d no chance
Of getting home for tea. I woke with shivers,
And thought of crocodiles in crawling rivers.

Some day I’ll build (more ruggedly than Doughty)
A dark tremendous song you’ll never hear.
My beard will be a snow-storm, drifting whiter
On bowed, prophetic shoulders, year by year.
And some will say, ‘His work has grown so dreary.’
Others, ‘He used to be a charming writer’.
And you, my friend, will query—
‘Why can’t you cut it short, you pompous blighter?’
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