Under the bleached bluff
sea shells shape the bay
the grey and white
like seagulls
shines in sun

each tuft of grass is hardy
rough
tousled by sudden wafts
of salty gusts
that ride the waves towards the land
where
free as air
the litter flies across the sands

swung in the sky
the birds are tossed
their cries
those far off saddened screams
that make the coast their theme

a contrast to the balmy days
when summer winds are warm
and breeze
a welcome sense of calm

the tide comes in
now challenging
its rattle of those shells
percussion in the out of doors

a band that takes repeats
encores
for granted
while it roars

until the change relieves its chores
receding back again
to join the great wide ocean main

Margaret Ann Waddicor 25th December 2015

As I was adding the last few pieces
Of putting myself back together
After being broken so many times before
You broke me again

What doesn't **** you makes you stronger is *******

It makes us resentful
Hateful
Skeptical
Overprotective
Afraid

It kills our innocence piece by piece
Until we are finally dead inside
Incapable of loving or caring
A burnt out shell of the person you once were
No longer yourself

We writers are unorthodox, we writers write! We're not trapped, hidden, or stuck in some box.

We writers make history with weapons as words, or words as weapons!

We writers can create or change the times, because it is we who foresee the madness of crazy and dying.

We writers have family, or no family, were miserable, in love! Or were happy..

We writers note, record, register, list, inscribe, sign, scribble, scrawl, and pencil.

We writers are not mythical creations, we create the good and bad in history,

Just by the mark of a quill or pencil!

Don't act as though my opinion
Matters to you
At all.

Grant me the words
"I don't care."

So that I don't waste my precious thoughts
On your unworthy ears.

You are not your disease.
You are not depression.
You are not AIDS.
You are not cancer.
You are not asthma.
You are not your diagnosis.
You are so much more than that.
Do not let your disease control your life.
When you look in the mirror
See yourself,
Not your disease.
Do not let your sickness pull you under.
And yes,
swimming at first is hard.
It feels like you are always drowning.
You can’t breathe.
But don’t give up.
Don’t sink.
Keep on fighting.
You are not a slave to your disease.
It is not an anchor
if you don’t let it be.

She heard him on the ceiling
slowly sliding off the wall,

sinking, gently spilling empty
promises to break his fall,

she listened for their landing
and they landed everywhere

and she gathered them like corpses
and she burned them, then and there...

Good morning my sweet girl is time for you to take a shower and cry the rest of your heart out because of that guy who isn't worth half of a tear. Open the faucet completely so your parents can't hear your hopeless cry.
The shower is over, step out of it and dry every single part of your body, including your soul. I'm not sure if a towel will be enough to do so.
Then put on your mask of shades and dusts on your face, that one you call makeup. Put it in, become someone else. Some shades over here, a little bit of lipstick and voilá! No trace of a tear.
Now the most important part, smile, my dear. Smile as if you were truly happy. Pretend that you don't give a **** about anything or anyone. Pretend that how you look expresses your inside. Prettend that you never cry, that your life is amazing and that you're a bad girl.
Lie, lie to everybody. Lie to your mom about not wanting to go to school anymore. Lie to your friends about that guy who's crying for you. Lie to the world... But you can't lie to yourself. And for you that part is  the worst.