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 Feb 2014 Emerald Proctor
Maham S
At night
I lie under the darkest cloud
I lie in a storm
I lie in brightness
I lie alone.

At night
I miss
I miss the loud
I miss the quiet
I miss chaos
I don't miss.

arms entwined
around each other
I see them
but I don't see me.

silent whispers
and unspoken looks
I see them
but I don't see me

noise and chaos
is what I have
and what I want
similar in their definitions
in a parallel universe.

But then
I see him and him and him and him
I see them all
and I see me
I see darkness
and I see hunger
and I see no spark

I see both
seeping the drastic differences
absorbing the realities
dreaming the dreams.

I see me, and I see them
both thems are different
but I'm not.

When I want to be them
I see the other them
and I see me
and then I realize
that the them could be either.
but the me,
is me.
 Oct 2013 Emerald Proctor
Who knows when she will get better
Because I certainly do not.
She is the greatest friend I've ever had.
How did she get so mixed up?
I don't understand why she thinks she is worthless.
She is worth so much in my eyes.
It scars my heart every time I see her cry.
And what was it worth for him?
Does he even realize what he has done?
Please explain it to me slowly,
Was it worth all her pain
For your "trial run"
For the half-assed marathon
That you never even finished
It's bone breaking how much she was torn apart.
She fell into love
And got dropped off,
And forgotten.
 Oct 2013 Emerald Proctor
Beautifully dressed
A painful kiss
So long, Goodbye,
My love.
A long title for a short poem.
 Oct 2013 Emerald Proctor
A cigarette
Feels so warm
Like a hug from a friend
And you feel like you belong
I found where I belong
Memories kept
All my secrets
Are left on cigarettes
if girls are so good at painting their faces
i wish we could turn them loose on a real canvas
see what they really mean
when they paint those black lines
every girl is a painter
she needs a real canvas
da vinci is lurking behind those sultry lashes
trapped in the eyeliner-barbed wire
a concentration camp of cover-up
clipping their own wings
with eyelash curlers -
every girl is a painter.
i wonder what faces they would paint
if they stopped focusing on their own face
i wonder if they would still have clown-smiles
and slanted eyes

i am looking for the next van gogh
but he has camouflaged himself
and is dying in front of an empty mirror.
Autumn leaves
Are a trick of the mind.
An illusion of beauty,
That mask the harsh reality
Of what they represent.

Mesmerized by their colors
People mistake them for beauty.

But what are autumn leaves really?

They are leaves
Inevitably changing
With no control over the matter
Loosing what they once were altogether

And then
When the cold fully encompasses them
And it becomes too much to bare any longer,
The simply fall away,
Completely forgotten by the people who were once
Infatuated with their beauty
But have lost interest now
Because they are no longer
appealing to the eye.
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