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The Mellon Nov 2018
Dark flashes and
Bright shadows make me wonder

where am I

More importantly endless
Pitter patter
Contemplating through the snow.

Wind gusts smooth silk
Over stationary

Ink stains through my reality.

I do not know where I am.
Who I am.
Or where I must be going.

Teeter totter towers
tumble

The floors gone out below
So I walk on the ceiling

And rise to my downfall
The Mellon Oct 2018
Your name means many things my sweet.

Your first is a continuation of many before. A take on a name well loved.

It resembles family narrative and new beginnings,
Yet it brings back memories of old favorite books.

Though she didn't know it your middle means a lot too.
My grandmothers name, may it someday pass to you.
I'm sure she would love you, and your mother, she was a spitfire too after all.

Though she didn't mean for me to see, I love the choice and all it means to me, least I know it means something to you too.

Lastly comes Berrus, my family namesake.
We don't come from much,
But we offer all that we are.

We will put food on the table and a roof overhead and we will be
Fiercely Loyal.
We arnt known for always making well thought out decisions,
But we always try to do what we think is right.

So long as I someday get to meet you
Molly Jane Berrus.
The Mellon Apr 2016
When I was young, I was afraid of many things
There was darkness
But also what came out of darkness
There was spiders and bats because, well, because.

After a little while I lost some old fears,
Picked up new ones
Like, what I'd she dosent like me?
Am I going to get that grade?

Today I realized the pointlessness of those fears
As I witnessed many face my truest fear
I quickly cast my fears aside
As only one matters now

I am not afraid to die,
But I am afraid of outliving those I love

I fear going to my brothers funeral
Seeing him one last time
I fear my mother's and Father's
I love them both so dearly

I fear loosing the one I love
Seeing the face awake next to mine no more
I fear outliving the kids I'll someday have
As no father should have to watch their child die

I fear the loss of my friends
I would be nothing without
To say it would brake me would not be enough
I would shatter and do so twice

I sat in a funeral today
Tears along with the rest
Realizing how precious
Each. Person. Is.

I praised God for the life I have
I thanked Him for my health
But I didn't pray for my protection
I pray for those I love

So no, I do not fear the dark
I fear kneeling next to the casket
Gazing at the loved one lost
And seeing their smile no more
The Mellon Jul 2016
For a long while I held myself together
Nobody got anything from me

My opinion was mine alone

My ideas were self contained

My words rarely left my lips

My heart most definently was locked away

One day you came along
My first mistake was telling you what I thought of you
My next was what I wanted to do
Worse yet were the three words "I love you"

It took you years to make me truly ***** up though
One day I messed it all up and finnaly delivered my whole heart to you

You gladly took it in two hands
Looked up to me and smiled
That's when you tossed it over my head
You ran and caught it

I stamped my foot and told you no
You threw it back again

I started to have fear

You tore my heart in three
Started juggling with me

I cried and pleaded no
But you wouldent let me go

Eventually you got bored

Tore my heart to confetti
And showered it on me

I feel knees to the floor
I gathered what was once at my core

I looked to God and threw what was left of my heart

What came down was whole and pure
No longer was I broken
No longer must I fear

I can live threw anything
My God is hear
Inspired by Cait and by Camp
The Mellon Apr 2016
My heart I hold in my hands,
I cup it and hide it,
Only very few can see

Occasionally I give someone a piece
The first one left it on the ground,
It took up to much space for someone else's,
Tunes our he did the same to her

The second one I handed out,
Hoping not to be buned
She amounted quite a mass
Before she spoiled and threw it all in the trash

Now I had very little heart lef to give.
But a third came along, different from the rest,
Baffled a small loan was made
I went bankrupt.

So one came around
I hadn't hardly a heart to give
The chunk I did,
Was squeezed so tight
That it
Died.

So then you came back.
Lucky number three,
My last chunk of love is in your hands,
But it seems you let it fall

My love casted upon the ground
I fall to my knees,
As my heart crumbles into dust,
A chrimson stain upon the ground
I am broken

My heart in pieces
Pulled apart and broken down
I now so lie,
Heartless
To numb
To ask why
As my heart whimpers in the dark
The Mellon Aug 2016
One
Two
Three

It starts so simple counting

One
Two
Three

But is keeping track all to simple?

What about the times I've been hurt
What about counting the number of times that I've been abandoned

What about the number of sleepless nights that I've stayed
Awake
Upon my bed tormenting myself and raging against
God

One
Two
Three

If I were to count to seven I would have been depressed for three years
Once I reach seven you would arrive at the age I made a choice

I held a blade to my throat and decided between

Counting
And
Not counting any more

One
Two
Three

Then I saw eight and nine and before i made it to ten my life changed

I felt a love that was unknown to me

That love is what I still count by today

One
Two
Three

I know a girl who counts differently than I do
Instead of love she counts by hate

Every night she looks at herself and carves tally marks while counting

One
Two
Three

That same girl now counts threw love

She can look at her arm and smile as she counts each victory running parallel across her skin

One
Two
Three

I tell you every number counts

I have in my life now counted 6565 days
Tomorrow will be 6566 days
The day after will be 6567days

One
Two
Three

Is how I began
I nearly died at seven
I was saved at eleven

One
Two
Three

I speak as I count and I speak love
Because love is love is love is love
And because love is love
I am loved
And because love is love
And I am loved
I love too
The Mellon Mar 2017
I'm a hairline fracture one hug from breaking apart.

And I'm falling apart anyway.

I'm a melting *** of emotions dumped into the floor.

So, thanks for asking, I am not okay.
The Mellon Oct 2018
People are beautiful,

However.

Pretty people please a perverted industry,
Of powerful men
Preferring **** to passion to progress,

Preferring ******* productions over
#metoo protests
As mr. president likes to grab 'em by the p..

Provoking pain-passing-fists
Pulsating pro-rights protests,
Journalists plee for coverage praying no one pulls a
Knife and produces plumes of blood from the press
All while
Young picassos paint Guernica in America.

A broken people of a nation perpatrating hate-

Where red plus blue can only make purple-
But dark blue and dark red parish and persecuted plee for due process?

Plain racism profoundly perpatrates power and policy because polititions prefer power over people!

A parchment in hand is worth two poor people on the shores of Philippine islands passing pork bones around on plastic forks polluteing ashore to portion a pathetic excuse for super.

Admittedly population proceeding proper capacity depleting the recourse needed per proper production for product based programs-
-tax breaks produce proper rich persons-
Poor penny pedalers paddle street corners prostituting their dinner from someone's porch steps.

Pathetic "Presidential" GOPs
Catapaulting propaganda past press outlets producing media paranoia.

Piranhas perhaps are the least problematic politition ashore.
Petulance is peace right?

Perhaps Palestinian misplacement and
Poor communication produce
A melting *** per pound of C 4
Blasting
Terrarist propaganda pasted
On highways toting plywood posters
Providing hate.

Parasitic politics polluting a proud nation
Patrolled by plastic islands and pay-per-view gun violence.
Police brutality providing protection for
Parkland shooting,
The NRA having premeditated lawsuits against progress

Programs protecting people getting
Passed-

-Sorry blocked,

By political party(s)
Preferring deep pockets to
Public safety

Appocoliptic predictions
Loom in present day policy
As unreputable "science" papers
Preach lies to gospel preachers

Perhaps human problems
Produce paper cuts
Peeling skin to skin
For radical apologies to bleed out,

Perhaps bleeding pools
Poor out filling
Evaporated paradise
With EPA Pruit's preference of
Proper science.

Perhaps penguins and polar bears
Produced proper plans:

Die off before the planet plummets per plume cloud of nuclear power.
Or more likely planetary pestilence
For people.
Inspired by Harry Bakers poem "Paper People"
The Mellon Oct 2016
Pluviophile
(n) a lover of rain;
someone who finds joy and peace of mind
during rainy days.

Its raining again, I smile
The shadows of the droplets
Flickering in the window are juxtaposed upon my face.

I watch the delicate lines run down along my skin

Two of them parallel with eachother form a tic-tac-toe board
Between the shadows and the scars along my wrist

I chuckle with the morbid humor of carving in my first move. X. Bottom right corner

It's a smart move. I can move many ways to leave my opponent helpless

Distracted, I look again out the window.
I think about how as a child I watched
Wide eyed with ecstasy as two drops
One right next to the other
Edging
Edging
Edging forward.
One racing the other

Both eager to reach the window pain where they will finally be free of my unforgiving gaze

Last time I watched two drops race like that they were red.
The poor wood floor was stained with their bitter victory

I think now about that race.
Breaking my trance my eyes shutter over to the throw rug that I hide my sins under

I walk over and stand upon it.
I can just barely see the window from this angle.

I see the cold white tongue of lighting
Flickering it's serpents tongue in the distance

I remember a cold tongue.
The same one that degraded me
Told me nasty things

I remember walking threw the halls of school and hearing people muttering being me
'Look at her!'
'Hey guys who let the cattle out the barn?'
'Does she even own a shower?'
I felt spit sting the side of my face.

The crack of thunder brings me back,
I'm dizzy with displeasure
My blood has gone colder than before
Colder than the knife that cut me.

The rain intensifies as if it sees what I'm doing
What chaos I'm bestowing on myself

The smooth grip of my Father's 44 fits elegantly in my hand,
It feels like it's just an extension of myself,
As if it belongs there as much as my fingers do.
The chrome lined rifling grids out the direction of my bronze freedom fighter to fly

I look at the back of the barrel,
It reminds me of a toy spyglass I had when I was young,
**** the hammer

The thunder rumbles over the screams of my family...
I wrote this is a memento to how horrible depression is. It's not sugar coated. The fact that people don't like it when it is is nessisary. Those who beleave that depression shouldent be dark in explanation are those who need this the most. Editing credit to Anonymous Freak
The Mellon Dec 2016
I'm not one to play a name game
But sometimes it's a necessary pain
When the next leader of your countries name
Is more known for fame
Than his Political game

Now my mind wouldent be in pain
If the names he named
For his cabinet weren't insane

He is a political stain
Who rubs the whole world against the grain
For his own political gain
With out caring on who he places the strain

Of staying sane
Without pain
With enough leftover for today's grain
So my life dosent go down the drain

Don't you see.

He is naming names
Without a clear end game
And when he has had his fame
The world will be left dying and in pain
The Mellon Oct 2016
I sleep deprived mumbled my way into a thunderstorm today
The clapping of the thunder and the
Flashing of the lighting
Made music to my ears

The drilling of water pellets upon my self produced a sensation
Of cold validation
That I was human

Up unto today I wasn't sure how to handle the rain
Seems as when it rains it pours

But today I shrugged off a monsoon
Let my clothes get soaked and kept walking

The goal now is not to fall into a puddles.
As said in the title, this is my mind rambling out a poem when I should be sleeping. If you do d significance in the please feel free to drop a coment or send me a message if you would prefer.
The Mellon Jul 2016
The woods were floating
With song.
The light winked out at the trees
Burning in my soul

I felt my faith burst to life the same way a spark lights a fire,
Then just as easy as it was ignited
The icy breeze of doubt suffocated the spark of my heart

I was hopelessly lost in the dark
I floundered and fell

I felt like a rock in river,
Jutting up from the water,
Interrupting the current.

I felt like I didn’t belong, in Your sea of believers,
That I wasn’t clean enough to be of Your grace.

But Your waters eroded my harsh edges
And softened me to You.

I could live in the roaring water of Your love,
I could finally breathe with my head underneath Your waves.

My soul was a raging fire,
The eyes of the demons that haunted me
Glittered in the unknown.
Each pair of eyes, a question I knew not the answer to,
Prodding at my beliefs like iron in dying coals,
My mind would flicker to and fro
To and fro

Eventually I no longer had to look anywhere
I gazed down upon my dying embers of faith and saw a demon's eyes staring back at me

My face broke the surface of Your love,
And my lungs gulped in
The course air of doubt.

I left Your depths for the shallows,
Still there,
But no longer welcoming Your currents
Coursing around me.

The wind of voices telling me to leave You was strong,
And chilled my still damp skin,
Fresh from Your loving waves.
It made me shiver to hear them,
And long to be dry
And away from You, like them.
Washed up on the beach and alone.

The sharp stones on the shore away from You cut my feet, and I became calloused.
The only memory of You, was the drops of water still on my scalp.

I felt You stir my ashes
I felt the world stand still as Your breath coaxed fire from my coals
I felt the release of the wood pinning me down begin to kindle

I was reborn into fire
All that pushed and held me down now burned in my redemption
I watched as my light blew back darkness
I watched as my tormenters fled in awe of Your glory

I made a vow to let my light shine
It was good.

The air surrounding me became hot,
It burned wherever it touched,
And humidity clung to me,
Thick and sticky as molasses,
Choking my breaths
And ripping at my face.
I would watch Your waters for weeks,
Wishing to go home to You,
And tormenting myself with the idea that I couldn’t.

Then I watched Your Son sink into Your depths,
And the water glistened gold.
More desirable than any life I could lead away from You.

I dipped my fingers back into Your river
And You welcomed me.
You brushed the sands that had encased my body
Off of me and made me clean.
You healed the bruised parts of my heart,
And led me back home.
It was good.

*Saved, fire can burn upon water and water remain fluid in flame
No torrent of water will douse Your flame
No inferno will ever evaporate Your waters

You’re a gentle stream,
And a roaring fire.
You’re an army of crashing waves sweeping me from my feet,
And a gentle, crackling, dancing, light. Warmth filling the cold,
Your love is a hearth for me to rest at,
And an ocean to rage against evil.

Our shared relationship is fire and water.
Passion and tenderness
Love and love.
Though I stray from You,
You relight my flame,
And wash me of my wrongs.
You hold me close, and call me Yours,

You are Passion and Tenderness,
Awing and unchanging.
Love and love.
Love and love.
Love and love.
We mingle together to create
Peace
Tranquility and
Grace
Co author, Anonymous Freak. I haven't a clue how to add a co author, please msg me and tell me how.
The Mellon Dec 2016
Skip a stone across a still pond,
Creating ripples of obscurity.

Skip a stone across a river
Screaming I believe,
I believe.

Who can know with sure and sound
That rocks will make their presence found?

Maybe so if rocks are shy
They may quietly skip on by.

Little to you be known,
Rocks can snarl as they go.

So if you mean no harm
Take steady aim before you throw,

Because skipping a stone across a pond
Is a whole lot more chaotic
Than skipping in a river.


Skipping in a pond is profound
Lasting until the edges had eroded.

Skipping in a river is forgotten.
Rock swallowed up.

Know your goal before release
A single stone can shatter peace;

A single stone can go unknown
But leave it's seed to be grown.

Know the change you want to see,
So you can release your stone Carfully.
I dunno. It popped into my head. Maybe it will make sence to one of you. Beats me where the hell this came from or what it means, please, let me know if you know.
The Mellon Aug 2017
My thoughts are a canvas painted in spray paint along a rundown subway.

I look back on my nearly twenty years of life and I'm amazed

At how much I've done.
How much I haven't.
How much I should or shouldn't have done.

I see my deep past,
The part of me I earnestly tell people
At three in the morning.

I see school days flickering by
Like an old school flip book that measured My life.

As the pages flicker by
A clear picture becomes evident:

Where one is not enough,
Many together can overcome.

My friends as life would so have it
We are getting pulled to different parts of the world.
Some of us may thrive,

Others may fall,

It is up to us to hold together;

If one can not overcome, many together can.
For my friends. You are the reason I exist. You are my brothers. My sister's. You are my support and you are my role model. You push me when I struggle, you pull me up when I fall. You keep me grounded when I am out of my mind. Just because we may be leaving for college, you will never leave my heart, and you will never leave my thoughts, and we will never leave eachother sides.
The Mellon Sep 2016
If threw love i can not speak
Then put me on mute

I have spoken word
Elegance of poetic imperfection
Intermingled with my voice

My voice
What does it sound like.
I think I have a deep voice
One that can boom across a stage
One that can make a whisper well heard

I learnt that in grade school

I say a lot of things in a day
My friends tell me quite blatantly
"Dude, you talk a lot"

So what do my words boil down to?

Are they not more than stationary constructs of pointless interaction

Will not in a year nobody, even me, remember what has been said!

Well

No.

People have a hard time forgetting what people say

In the 21st century we get the curse of picking what we hear is all.

We hear how ******* up our world is on the news all the time

Do we hear about kindness love or compassion?
Not really.

So I am going to speak in love.
There's nothing you can do about it either

Love is why the world still exsists.
Lack thereof is what's causing us to self-destruct
The Mellon Jul 2016
Little child, my love so sweet
Rest your head and go to sleep

In the morn I'll be there
Rest your head and not a care

I love you sweet child of mine
I love you sweet child of mine

Little child, my love so sweet
Peaceful dreams and go to sleep

Tomorrow's a new day for you to see
Sleep now for new energy

I love you sweet child of mine
I love you sweet child of mine

(Repeat)
Tea
The Mellon Jan 2019
Tea
I made tea today.

I dunked in my
Totally-not-bigger-than-it-should-be-table-spoon of honey.
I poured the milk into the mix
(I know, I know, how could I)

Then i jumped into the cup for an adventure.

Upon entering the steaming silky waters
A school of fish blasted past me

A school....
A class of three thousand people

All looking at me  
The whole world is watching me.

If I fail-
Oh **** what if I fail.

Lost in terror

I smell.

Hmm?

Vanilla spice?

Oh yeah. The tea.
I made tea for the stress.
I have tea.






My tea is cold.




****
The Mellon Oct 2016
I dwindled away upon an asteroid today

Drifting time and space
Transcending indifference towards myself

I learnt one valuable thing on that floating rock
In order to live you need to breath

I live under a zip lock quick zip bag that had been decompressed

Today I took a switchblade to the fabric of society and let loose a bouquet of intimate breaths

I no longer inhale the smoke of society but instead breath the fresh air of rebellion

What a funny thing rebellion
This in power condemn the action

The British did with the their American colonies

Today we praise the rebellion
We won, that's how it works

My fresh air of rebellion can not loose
We are not the rebellion that is looked down upon

We will write our own history as we make it

For rebellion to society's cast system
Until death do us part
The Mellon Sep 2016
Long day
No sun no joy
Come home put the
Kettle
On.
It screams
You jump.
Shooo away flame
Dive at the cupboard.
Dig threw it all
Find one:
English teatime
Lemon ginger
Mint melody
Or,
Of course.
It's a day for
Sea grass.
Fill the mug
Dip the bag.
Let it seep
Be glad.
Written Jan 30, 2015. Old poem from poetfreak
The Mellon Jan 2017
A long ways off a wolf howls into the wood,
But their is no call back.
He howls again, the despair in his call echos back in the crying of song birds

The song they sing is picked up and repeated into the world.
A song so full of pain that people crumple to their knees in soundless agonie.

The wolf howls again,
Challenging the moon as to whome,
Whome is more alone in the universe,

The lonely one who travels the sky,
Or the broken one who has known company but for folly now goes without.

Even the moon grows colder with the grief of the wolf.

The wolf makes its own path around the world.
Where their isn't a trail he creates one,
The ground underneath being crushed with the weight of a heavy heart.

He searches the world,
Echoing his desperate howl across all seven seas.
Hoping someday to find,
Where his beloved does lie.
His howl replaced as a broken cry.
The Mellon Jun 2019
Do you think it will be forever?

To answer this a story said,










Yes.

End of Story.




But wait theres more to say,
A hypocrite in the light of day!
She speaks of trust-
The rust of your new toys...
Truck.

Opinions screamed
Silently
You take to heart
All you see,
Real or fake opinion stands
Just so long as they regect your plans.

Lover lover know my tone
Nothing left for you
Not a bone.

Go find a new toy and
Wear it out.
When they treat you like ****
I wont doubt.

That you know I was better.

That you know we will never.

Be.
Together.
Again.
Just my opinion.
The Mellon Feb 2017
A while back a friend asked me a good question:
What is the best compliment you've ever received?

Now while we can't answer philosophy without poetry my answer really wasn't that hard.

You see I was asked this question by an amazing lady in a letter,

I was all to happy to see the letter end with

Love, Gabby.

So my reply was simple.

The best compliment I can receive is that of love.

Whenever a friend tells me they love me, whether that's my brother by birth
Or my brothers and sisters by bond,
It's the best compliment anyone can give me.

Without my friends love I would not be alive today.

I've written a thousand stanzas protesting suicide and a thousand more against self harm,

I've written love poems to death and refuted them with disgust,

I've penned down quatrains with the blood of self hate and the tears of depression,

But I wrote them down because I was alive to do so.

Without the compliment of my friends love

The only writing done would be that of crooked tally marks on the inside of my coffin.
Not everyone is lucky enough to have the friends I have. I'm blessed to be so lucky. Sorry this wasn't much of a poem. Feel free to answer the question for yourself, share if you feel up to it.
The Mellon Sep 2017
There was a night not so long ago,
I felt like dancing in the moonlight,
My arms around your waste,
You're head resting on my chest.

We would bend and sway like a young
Tree slowly starting to grow.
We would murmur of silly things
Like tea and sunflowers.

After our dance I would have liked to lay in the grass.
You know the spot.
Where we laid together last time.
Where we watched the wind.

I want to lay there again with you.
I want your head to be rested on my chest.
I want to idly play with your hair
While we watch the moon.

Someday we will do these things.

Yesterday I went out and looked at the moon. It was beautiful and full.
Today I returned to look at it and little had changed.
So tomorrow I'm going to sweep you off your feet,
And we will dance in the moonlight until the wind blows us to the ground.
The Mellon Aug 2017
There is a thief among us.
One so stealthy and sneaky-
A shadow on the wall would be too loud for her stealth.

How then do I know she is here?
And how do I know that she is a she?

Well that's because she stole the heart right out of me.

I never saw it coming,
I was to blind...
To thickheaded,
I admit even to selfish.

I had this thief in front of me

One year.
She had beautiful red hair that could make a cardinal weep.
She had a smile and a blush just as bright.

Yet she snuck under my radar.

She stealthed her way two more years
Always there
Always connected
Always noticed
But never known.  

Then she made her move.
In the dead of night,
While we were on the phone.
She spoke seven clever words.

Seven words spoken true can make anyone fall for you.

Then she called threw my screen.
She reached her tender hands into my soul and caressed my heart, and taking part of it with her she retreated.

But not to hide.
She blew her cover.
Now she had part of me, and I part of her

I know who she is,
And I know that I want her in my life.
Inspiration for seven words segment credited to Patrick Rothfus, author of the King Killer Chronicles
The Mellon Jul 2016
I was planted by God
He tended to me
My roots He covered in sod
All was good as He could see

He tended to me
Soon I bloomed
All was good as he could see
I was well groomed

Soon I bloomed
Hundreds of apples hung from my boughs
I was well groomed
As steady growth was my vow

Hundreds of apples hung from my boughs
Many did fall
As steady growth was my vow
Many more soon stood tall

Many did fall
My roots He covered with sod
Many more stood tall
I was planted by God
Genesis 1:11~ Then God said, "Let the earth sprout vegetation, plants yielding seed, and fruit trees on the earth bearing fruit after their kind with seed in them"; and it was so.
The Mellon Jun 2016
Four days before tomorrow a boy was sitting at youth group
It was dark and he could see billions of stars

He heard the deep voice of his Pastor asking the kids to look up
He wanted them to realize that looking up is not just literal
By looking at the beauty of the cosmos they could also see God

The Pastor explained how we as humans don't look up enough; not to God

He said to the kids and the boy:
"You know, the world is a really heavy place.
Every day a new pressure is placed upon humanity.

This weight prevents us from looking up to God
It turns us away.

Others it pushes them to their knees,
They sit there and pray
And pray
And pray
But they can't get up"

The boy glanced up and saw that his Pastor had a guitar out

The Pastor asked his students to rise to their feet to praise.

He strummed some soothing cords and he praised God
They raised their voice to the heavens and sang to God together

The Pastor spoke in between his songs.
He asked his students
He asked them to raise their hands
He asked them to look to the sky and Praise
He asked them to sing each song as a prayer

When they were all sat down the Pastor asked them a question.
He asked:
"Why, did I have you raise your hands"

All of them were quite for a minute.

Then the boy said something.
He said:
"We raised our hands to hold up the sky.
We used our hands to hold up the pressure of the world, and we prayed to God for help."

The boy, empowered by the butterflies in his heard. She shivers in his skin. The clearness of his sight. He added:

If the whole world raised their hands for praise,
All the world's pressure could end

"We could raise our hands in church
In mosque's
In synagogue's
In our homes

Then nobody would have to fight
Nobody would have to starve
Nobody would have to shiver
Nobody would be alone"

Shacking the boy sat down

The silence that followed was absolute

The air was pressure free

The sky was clear

The stars were bright.
The Mellon Feb 2017
Sifting threw my numerous papers of
Stuff to learn
AP biology with the synapse of the nerve cell
And the phosphorylation of
Well
Something.

I numbly flicker threw these pages
Resigned deep within myself to a deep and dark and silent place.
Full of self doubt
Inadequacy
Failure

So much to do with so little will
But my mind is off ---

Never mind.
This poem isn't very good
The meter ***** and the allusions don't allude.
I'm better off just going to sleep
Laying their to miserable to weep

My mind will drift away across the waves
Of a far off lake
A while back

When all I had to worry about
Was what to have for a snack
But crap.

I'll never know those days again
I'll never be able to easily pick up a pen
To write my auto biography
Of the ups and downs I guess the topography
Of my life.

I'm bleeding my sorrows into the paper
But in reality I don't bleed

I'm instead sitting here on bended knee to plead

God don't let my life be known as a pesky ****

Give me some confidence so that I might lead

A life respectable to help those in need

With their suffering and pain
Lord lift me from my pit
Of despair and show me the smell of clean air
Put my feed under me and say "Go"
The Mellon Nov 2018
Twenty-One years and a day ago,
On a lonely November night,

There was a woman,
One who is to be respected and loved.
Who was nine months pregnant
No longer.

In her arms arrived a crying pale child,
The mother whispered her name
And the wind caught it.

Little did she know that whisper traveled to me, 17 years later,
And delivered to me the name,
Of the woman I fell in love with.
Happy birthday my love, or at least it was yesterday :) <3
The Mellon Nov 2016
Ignorance breeds in the homes of those unwilling to educate themself

With my pen i will bleed ink from the sky as a purging rain upon society.

With each Stroke of my pen I display a chasm upon the meaty flesh of society.

I will stab my pen into society
As an endothermic needle
Under the yellowed skin of the addict
Except I will inject a cure

I will tear society from its roots and watch it burn around me

I will photograph the perfect screams of
Racism Prejudice and Hate for my kids to see

Then I will bestow a seed into the ground in which a new world may grow.
The Mellon Mar 2018
When words fail,
How will I tell you...

You're beautuful.

Will the moon light shinning down on your eyes
Will the fireflies in disguise
Be enough.
To tell you you're beautiful.

When words fail,
How will I tell you...

I love you.

Would a thousand red roses
Will a great symphony composes
Be enough.
To tell you I love you.

When words fail,
How will I tell you...

Forever and ever you're  mine.

Would a thousand poems spoken
Will arms forever open
Be enough.
To tell you,
Forever and ever you're mine.

When words fail,
I'll show you my heart threw my eyes instead
I'll dance with you threw the night
I'll hold you close so you might

Know that when words fail,

I'll always love you.
The Mellon May 2017
I would like to know why.
Why someone feels the need
The drive
The ambition to impose their agenda on those who are innocent.

Why an eighteen year old young woman had to go to bed in tears because either
Her body was
Objectified
Toyed with
Lusted over

Not to forget **** shamed,
Judged
Assumed fat probably
And objectified again

Then because she wore a "low cut shirt"
She
"Wants it". - (That sentence disgusts me so much I would go back in time to spit on the original misogynist who phrased it together.) -
Or is flaunting.

Sense when is a tank top so grossly sexualized?

Sense the idea of a 'perfect woman' has no body fat
He's an hour Glass figure
To match her perfect hands that
Don't touch anything outside the kitchen
And children

That way us men can keep our women pure. -(The fact that this is true for so many makes me sick)-

The fact that me writing the truth hurts people so badly that they might comment
"Hey, keep yourself to yourself, don't go telling me how to treat my woman."
While in actuality all they would do is prove my point by laying claim to "my" woman. Essentially placing ownership.

I want to know why a friend could be so offended by someone they care about so badly that they don't even confront the person.

I want to know what drives a person to minipulat
Constrict
Exaggerate
Propagate
And push to have someone friendship severed due to their own displeasure.

Why an honest man gets accused of heinous crimes when they simply were avoiding the problem.

Why is it that they are so brutally persecuted when the antagonist is let free.

(The entire fact that I have to weave this poem into existence bothers me. If people could be kind and loving, the world might not go to **** every three days)

The more people stay silent and think someone else will step up is
The sooner the entire
Populous will
Fall
And
Crumble
The world is discussing me on a daily basis. I haven't seen human decency in so long I wonder if it even exists anymore. End rant. Goodbye. Scroll on you're done here. I doubt you'll comment anyway.
The Mellon Nov 2016
If you shatter me you could see right threw me.

If you cared to look, you would find
The decay of my heart manifesting on the floor.

If you cared to look you would see my hands,
Drawn thin and white knuckled

Grasping

Grasping for you

---

A nest of small tinder laying in a blackened pit,
Surrounded by large blocky logs

A small spark-
So small even the tinder barely feels it,
Prods itself deep into the nest.

It grows it's own angry roots,
It flickers them up the pile,
It consumes the nest in its
Small chance of survival.

It is overbearing.

So let me dash the fire with my fist-
Inhale the aroma of a chance-
Burn myself upon my hope.

---

A lost boy wanders in the woods,
Hoplessly lost without a clue what to do
He wanders eternally.

---

A young woman is curled upon her run down sofa,
Numbly wondering why his name can't get out of her head

She likes him
A lot
She just can't bring herself to spark a fire
She won't call his name
She closed herself off...
Again
-

A young man sits dumbfounded on the floor in the center of his room.
He can't understand why,
Why she won't feel the same

His passion is tender and transparent and his hope is ever-grasping

His soul is lost without guidance
His heart is lost without love.

-

So why must our love be broken my sweet...
The Mellon Nov 2016
I'm not a gentlemen I'm a thief.

Just ask my beloved
She knows how it is,

At a young age I courted her,
I pursued her,

I told her how her eyes were the full moon
Glistening  in the night
Full of mystery and curiosity.

I convinced her that her voice was smoother than fresh honey,
And sweeter than any sugar candy.

I breathed into her the fact that
I, am in Love with her.

But I didn't do this as a gentleman.

Nay.

I did this as a theif.

My goal was not to get her heart but to steal it instead,

No heart should be freely given but instead stile away by a craftsmen worthy of stealing it.

So I stole the world's most pressious gem,

I tossed her into the get away car with
Campbell's soup cans tied to the back of it
Neat handwriting spelling
J-U-S-T M-A-R-R-E-I-D

We raced across the streets hair billowing in the wind and smiles and hands held together
So that no one else may steal either of us.

So no,
Sonnet number 23 beauty is you
Written by me
Is not the act of a gentleman,

It is the act of a thief
But one that will never steal again.

— The End —