The stars do not just whisper,
they cry and yell and beg.
"Someone,
someone,
we are ill,
from this horror show we cannot unsee."
The land was filled with gas,
the stars,
too high to cleanse.
The stars are begging,
"Someone,
someone,
put this horror to an end."

Though on the other side.
The one that plugs their ears,
clipped noses,
zipped mouths,
and the society alive,
we say nothing to the stars,
instead we simply watch them cry.

I know we let you drop the shine,
and dazzles of tears
to our revolt and vandalized land.
I'm sorry we cannot let go,
and give you all demand,
but society has this image,
and it may not go away.

I'm sorry crying, yelling stars,
but no.
Not today.

Like a bird caged in the sky,
without wings to fly.

It feels like i'm floating on thin air,
spinning,
drifting.
Wonder if i'm really here.
Shattered glass
makes stars that line the sky,
in every way,
and I don't even question why.
I'm a floater.
Floating on by.
I'm a drifter,
and I don't know why.
But I'm staring up
at this black glass sky,
that will welcome me at times.
Telling me it never really changes,
night is always night.
Cold yet warm,
and I don't know why.
Why I stare at this sky,
and call it a beauty.
Call it a saint.
Call it a home,
every now and then.
Why I float,
between it's stars,
that in my eyes,
don't seem that far.
Why I drift,
in it's cold warmth,
that hugs me,
embracing my inner all.
And I never ask why,
the cold warm sky,
is my stop sign,
while yet so vast.

I was deep in lucid sleep.
You fed me food doctor told me not to eat.
I didn't question,
but your motives to myself.
A landfill of poison,
and you mean it all for me.
Each rose another thorn,
each bite another death.
I was deep in lucid sleep.
My innocence I must keep,
is led astray for just on night.
Here I, to live, must fight.

I remember as a child-
peeking over the window,
to a ticking sound,
from a pitch black cloak,
hiding a creature on the ground.
A shadow of a haunting sparrow,
with a knife atop a pole.
I simply stared and giggled,
as I felt the lifeless soul.
Unsure of what to think,
I believe I heard a voice.
Said it, "I weaved a basket."
Then left he, a silent noise.
Baffled!
The atmosphere was like scent so taint.
"The basket soon has become a case."
The words were wispy and growing faint,
like the words were sent away.
I was hesitant to follow it,
and I don't recall why I didn't.
I found myself the sturdy floor,
and my friend,
'the cloaked one' was now no more.

I have a fairy by my side
Which says I must not sleep,
When once in pain I loudly cried
It said "You must not weep"
If, full of mirth, I smile and grin,
It says "You must not laugh"
When once I wished to drink some gin
It said "You must not quaff".

When once a meal I wished to taste
It said "You must not bite"
When to the wars I went in haste
It said "You must not fight".

"What may I do?" at length I cried,
Tired of the painful task.
The fairy quietly replied,
And said "You must not ask".

Moral: "You mustn't."

She's a little bit of a dreamer,
with holes in her mind.
Her parents push her on the bike,
then she believes she's left behind.
Her poems plead forgiveness,
and unveil her sorrows deep.
Though she tries to change her image,
it's one which she knows she must keep.
But keep on peddling Kelsie.
If you feel like they're gone
you mustn't be brought down and sad.
Keep on peddling Kelsie.
Don't let fake sympathy
make you feel bad.
Peddle like the wind,
blowing dust into the air.
If some people choke,
brush it off like you don't care.
Being someone else,
is not what I ask you to do.
Stop asking for permission,
to finally be you.