Putting on dress after dress, makeup and hair.

Untill she finally sits down in the chair and realises her absolute despair.

That intense horror bleeding from her eyes and running down her neck, like sweat.

Her final disregard for ****** expressions that might make her appear less than attractive.

Glorified weeping and sulking so ugly and so heart wrenching.

The sweetest sniffs and gasps for air. Oh how she could drag it out for hours.

One last breath as she looks at herself in the mirror, washes her face, takes off the dress and puts it all back into her mother's closet.

Miss you.

Love, don't worry
About this story
I write for us
Please do trust

In me
Soon you shall see
There are no endings
Only more beginnings

Our lifes are true
We came together like it was on cue
See our story may end
But in the exposition one has begined

Our childern well pass on our story
So please dont worry
For there is no ending
Just the sound of the binding bending

And my pencil may break
Or my hands start to ache
But i look at a pen like a flame to an arsonist
Picking it up to start making things permanent

Have you ever thought,
That every poem born,
Is   l i f e ?

They grow an  i n ch
For every soul they touch.
And as they age, senile
Emotions once felt,
T h e y   d i e.

You see,
In people's lives
There are a lo t  of  s ta rs
left  *u n to u ch e d
And if they sparkle
A t  ni g h t,
Know that, it is
the wr i t er 's   s o ul
That gives it spark, but it is
the  re a d er's  he a r t
That makes it  s h i ne .
And the one
Who makes it fall,
Are those who wish you
The b e s t s  in  l i fe .

You may not believe it, but I have tried,
To come to terms with this thing
Called forgive and forget,
While reaching for the tissues box
So what about my hidden scars?
My daily reminders, my mentors
I have tried.. But they taught me to be
Strong, and believe that out of bad comes good

Maybe I ought to tried, a *******
To see if I can came to terms with that too..
With me, myself and I: what a fantastic dual

I love me: and I, was fondling myself.
My evil mind, my impure thoughts
My labor of love: I did try

Poetry writing has taught me a lot throughout the years
I can be original, but I would never master the craft
But I will have a voice of recognition: My human voice

What's to become of this
loneliness.
This excess and motionless
feeling of
What's to become of us two
Our thoughts stay static.

There once was a young girl,
Shy and pretty, but unaware of her grace.
On late summer days she gazed up to the sky,
Trying to slow down worlds enormous pace.

She understood there was more outside,
Than poppy fields and hazy clouds,
while most people blindly joined life's crazy ride,
She resolved to walk without the crowd.

On her untapped path she spotted a flower,
Blue and lovely as she has never seen it before.
For flowers blooming in unexpected places she swore,
Are the most beautiful ones holding the greatest power.