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Emily Pidduck Aug 2014
He didn't even deny it
But she no longer cared
titled after breaking because the hurt was too bad, couldn't let him go, therefore she accepted frivolity
Emily Pidduck Dec 2013
define warmth for me, so that I comprehend
because I've been rubbernecking, though I reside here
and your greenhouse effect affects me not

I'm caught in a position of longing, but it is less of a yearning and more of an ambition
because I'd do utterly anything to feel the spark of embers
the sort of glow that old remember and young magnify

too often I'm hearing a climatic affair of the strong brought to knees
before being enveloped by a numbness that eases their burden
more often I am enraged by their weakness: disgusted by their vulnerability
or perhaps it's jealousy
from one who never felt the urge at the starter's pistol
it's hard to pity when the Arctic's all you've known

and maybe it's not fair
but who are you to say so
because I won't undergo your tragedy
and you won't fathom mine...
quit your babbling - it's all a mind game
and your wailing drives me wild
honestly, promise me nothing because keeping oath requires a fervor
which only comes with fire and you've the ability to find it despite your cold
but behold - that smouldering - I've never even felt it

still I can feel a trickle of pride
at your dab of effort when your arms encircled me
but dearest, I shivered
petrified, I sobbed because you were so close and blazing
while I was freezing
and that girl across the road sensed the calidity, unbuttoned her jacket and handed it over
to a man on the sidewalk in snowfall
he felt from her what she felt from you
you put scalding verses my glacial
green eyes were hopeful; my brown, resigned
I was worlds away from neutral

this ice has not enslaved me
make no illusion that there's a stand still
because I've yet to find the frosty pillar that might halt this endeavor for fire
on the streets I see vessels radiating my craving
and I wonder
by what method did they reach their warm condition
but at below 0
I suppose all you see is warms bodies.
For a couple of years I was wondering why I felt no emotion where others were crying, so this is a tribute to my old self. I'm not sure if this is amplified but I think that any fear is as equally terrifying in the moment.
Emily Pidduck Feb 2014
The pulsation of my heart as it flies across the keyboard
has broken the realm of reasonable
and the verdict for this insanity
is a rung bell
Let the open-ended battle
rake in my oppression until I'm begging
but my blood pumping-now gushing shall bring about
the enlightenment:
only the strongest survive the lies, and the cries
only add to their excitement

I've situated swell here, wrought wells near of a fear so ghastly
there's more salt than water
and somehow it's hotter than the older stories
of Hell in it's glories
with rivers for sinkers
run red from the clinkers
The fragile burn in my vile.

Then one little girl
up-heaved my determination
with a situation that left me speechless
An ice ripped my fire with the touch of those fingers
and hand in hand I watched her stand
and I couldn't see through
that colour blue
unknown to me
was the land of sea

I stayed there blind, unaware of wickedness
let alone the wrongs of my own
But she, in wiser, stood up to the ignorance
and bravely took an oath

"I am the strongest
You are the weakest
But I will save us both"
Also confusing, so questions are great, or comments, whichever!
Emily Pidduck Mar 2014
In the light I've been dreaming
of angels born screaming
to taste
of the darkness of night.

In the dark I've been bitten
by demons still hidden
to wait
for the brightest of days

And angels hold brilliance
And the demons': poor ignorance
and those demons want back to the light

But there's never
a path in sight

And the only illumination to come
is a terrifying thing

Because the Son
Shall strike down their king.
the sad story of Lucifer's temptation and fall(with followers), and the judgement
Emily Pidduck Jan 2015
A twisted form of angel,
he's a demon in the light.
Brilliant array of feathers
'fore the eagle prepares his
strike. Tsunami risen to ruin
from a gentle hazel tide. I
came to love his pretty things
since pretty never lies. But
beauty couldn't hide the
burning sun, he wrought me
dry. Oasis wasn't deep enough
to stifle up my cries. I wrestled
brave with golden chains that
locked me to his side. Securely
bound on his wicked ride, I'm
afraid of pretty things. Yet, I
decline to run when my heart,
it sings: What a pretty thing. What
a pretty gooorgeous thing - to see
a demon while there's light. Ready
to burn though he owns the night.
His vices I thought a pretty thing,
I'd faith, drowned in his soulless
eyes, that his pretty must not lie.
Emily Pidduck Sep 2014
whish whish* is the sound of a suffering
the sound of blood as it squirts
the most exquisite and horrendous fountain
loaded with a despairing call
a siren's ring
because it stings the depths of  the heart
to the very end, from the dreadful start
whish whish is the sound of suffering
the sound of wheels turning
because there was an exit before, there always is
most often it's more than I'm willing to give
whish whish is the sound of suffering
it is the sound of those crying
there is pleading, wailing, sighing
'fore the fates bring forth dying
and there is death in life, thoughts, wisdom, courage
it comes with age, but time's the liveliest gift received
we are deceived if we think we turn each page
whish whish is the sound of a suffering
it's the sound of what's missed
if we had asked before
we mightn't be adorned with the weight
the burden, the baggage, the fate
the mystery is missing
there's hissing in the past
those last faulty choices have played with our cast
maybe I'll make it better later
Emily Pidduck Mar 2015
on that hill she wept
forgetting the dove
the promise, the Lord
remembers love

the bird remains white
washing the sky
with wing tips black
souls to molded glass

a bruised, wicked people
no longer crass
transparency calls remorse
the vicious change course

love in abundance
dark sins pardoned
humanity's chance
we must not harden

I urge her tears of delight
grass will manage growth
in His assurance: that
tenderness will flourish
Emily Pidduck Apr 2014
little hand's hold
little toes cold
little born soul
at how old?

I'm not one for protests, baby
But I'd fight anyone
who'd say you weren't alive
when I could feel your heart beat within mine.
I'm not one for objection
But I'd challenge anyone
who'd say you couldn't hear
cause we've talked like crazy, though less than a year
And I'm not one to outcry the next
They could try their best
to deny you as a child
but before you first cried out
You'd been a person for awhile
Because I felt you, baby
I felt you smile
and you felt
when my fingers pressed against your wall
and you heard my call
and I called you, Baby
I'm not actually against abortion, but I think there are a lot more than should be.
Emily Pidduck Mar 2014
Glorified pebbles
lie mingled
with tainted rocks
that met blood and flesh
of both tragedy
and a natural tide
that gilded the shore with starfish
and in the ghastly before
laced it with metal
that were cloned and pressed into tubes
and riddled over
the worn shore beach
as the daylight aided
the mixture of
before the now
when it gently warms
the arrival of those forgetting
and the ghosts of those remembered.
In memory of the Dieppe landing.
Emily Pidduck Jan 2015
An empty locket is not hard to find
take a look at the neck
and you can find a chain
take a glimpse of their eyes
don't get lost in the void*

I know Lisa didn't believe in a lost cause
she had stout faith ingrained within her
that she could charge strong against a throng of men
who fated her to be wrapped tight in white gauze
who left the soldiers that couldn't be found in the fog
those riddled with led, disease and debris
to fill the bellies of those starving dogs

and now that my baby's in the hospital
locked in a state of alive but not living
I caress the locket she always wore
and I laugh where the tears come out
because it's a picture of my face
I laugh because if my little girl woke up
she would not stay in her place
she does not believe in fate
all she'd know is that her daddy hasn't
been helping people recently
would tell me I'm a disgrace

And I too wear a locket, the heart is pink
I've never wanted to ink it black, it's a gift
I received from my brave baby girl who used
her tooth fairy money when she was thirteen

I recall her saying I could put Sarah's photo there
but I said no, little Queen
there are pictures all over the house I can see,
right now all I need is you and me

that was that last time I felt strong
over and over, she opened my eyes
I kept learning I was wrong
I wasn't supposed to wait for cries
she said holding someone up is not enough
once they've broken on the inside

I have heard many more lectures from my princess
but I need her to wake up and make me remember
because I have been forgetting all my good parts
that came from her teachings of surrendering
your body and your heart in hopes you'll give
the multitudes a better start

so, Lisa
whenever you're ready
open your eyes

I'm all set to stop withering
I'll stop sitting here as I've done for three years
and you can return exactly as you were
in all of your glittering
definitely, fix this up later :). Of course use whichever people are more effective for you, for me this is a silent commentary from a single father about his only daughter who is lying in a coma. The girl was a soldier.
Emily Pidduck Jan 2014
It was many days
then moons
triple the bottles
turning to months
solstices passed
3 sweethearts later
still drowning
because he needed her

but you don't unearth the hollow ground
the only entrance
is to follow down
Emily Pidduck Mar 2014
Sometimes to survive you need to be painstakingly emotionless
You need to bite your lip to hold the screams
Block it out
just Breathe

But beware the stories.

There's a mother who at 33 became a drunkard
and she had 3 lovers
and she loved none.
And Dad stopped loving
because it hurt too much to love
even his own son.
And the neighbour had to tell Tommy
he wasn't a brother anymore.
And that family
at the core

And this kind of failing
the kind where each who lost
added to the cost
only to push themselves further under: it makes me wonder
How long can I deceive myself?
to pretend that it's all good
Told my mind
Just breathe it out.
and We'll be as We Should

There's a brother
I've been told
Who sold his body for less than gold
and he is RIDICULED
His Father Beats Him
and his darkness deepens
But his 12 year old sister hallucinates:
redemption as his fate
But his story held a choice
it was Him or Her
and his voice pleaded
that he should be the one
so she might have freedom
and they agreed
Now at night, while she's Dreaming
he's Screaming

That boy said to me
that he holds a dream
of a sister still clean
which means to him
That he's worth something still
and the nights can be bared
as long as she never knows
his type of scared
And this has me bawling
and clawing for air.
And my lungs fight for life
just to get there.

There's a father
with a wishful life
with cheerful children
and a gentle wife
And he's a Grandma's Boy
well, that's all he had left
and at her death
he's pitiful, on the ground
gasping for breath
Now he lives in FEAR
of the loneliness returning
that devoured him as a little boy
for years
So now he's running, so afraid of what's coming
that the path back is lost
and he never
the cost

and I feel tears when I watch him chatter with his family
because it's always a bonding moment of one on one
but if you look around, there's absolutely none
And I've started to feel lonely
when it's only me
but I remind myself: you can't go down that road
and you won't
if you can just Breathe.

There's a sister
with a child born out of wedlock
and she's felt fury
from her loved ones
Because of this Situation
Even Though
she resisted *******
And she just wants to find some love
so she protects that baby with everything that counts
and every ounce of resistance she has left
And She Will Keep Every Cry Inside
until that child arrives
and starts screeching
and she's shrieking
until that baby's tired eyes fall asleep
and she can enter her own weary zone
but she goes to deep

I'm having trouble processing
this story ending
because I've heard that beginnings are a beautiful thing
but this child won't even have
a mother to sing
to her at night
so How is she supposed to stop screaming?
and with this knowledge
How am I supposed to find meaning?

And I know

I know

I know there's good

And I know that pain can't win
so long as we hold it in

Breathe in
and out
and in

But Sometimes

I can't Breathe.

and that's when I bellow
right before the never-ending screams
I'm not suggesting giving up, but I want recognition for those who feel the burden of every story and weight they hear.
Emily Pidduck Sep 2014
This is the way we were -

on meeting
I decided
I would build up some arm muscle
so that I would be able to squish your head inside of a coconut
or simply bash you with a coconut
or at least witness a coconut fall
and see you trip over that coconut
as if it were a banana peel

our fated meeting
that feeling
was horrific

I met you again
a coconut attack is rather harsh
all you needed was a wee personality fix
a douse of hail
similar to a drenching in cold water
but harder
your skull was thick
you were headstrong
and I hadn't gotten around to weakening it
with those coconuts

and that destined meeting
was little better
than our first greeting

and encore
I witnessed a sweet you
the one that gave candy to a child
and passed by those kittens in a box

and it was fleeting
your kindness,
I considered you cheating

and then you showed up
who knows why
when you thought I was upset
I swear you only wanted to comfort me
for no good reason
because a movie isn't worth it
yet my heart
for you
was changing like the season

and it was leaving
that stored up bucket I had of

and my first step in your direction
was when I learned
that you hadn't liked that candy anyways
when I learned
you spent hours phoning your acquaintances
before you resigned to calling the pet center


and somewhere along
I forgot my hate
you became a fountain
instead of a well

by that far along
our love wasn't matched
yours had grown strong
mine just hatched

now I could say
with truth
that I love you
it's just that
it's rough that
I can no longer catch you
It's hard to have a stronger love....also getting lazy in my poetry and not putting enough effort in anymore, sorry :/
Emily Pidduck Apr 2014
In warm sunlight
upon my neck I feel soft shivers
as you caress my sweat
and you carry the soft cries
of a hummingbird
who's little wings beat their full power
against your gentle storm.
A gentle whiff
of a foul scent
descends upon my sense
and I resent that you've left me
but if I give you time
you return with a strength so beautiful
the odor is destroyed
and wisps of my hair flutter
like parade flags
praising your gentle demeanor
and soothing murmur

but in the dark storm
with lightning crackles
cast by gods or science
your presence is fearsome
you are esteemed to be the terror of a shrieking Mother
Nature, and by nature - you cannot be stopped,
only regarded with delightfully reverential eyes
eyes filled with tears
perhaps your tears
as raindrops are launched
with the same ominous power used to toy with waves
tease oceanic squalls
flirt with floods
and ravage each land chosen
because heatwave or frozen
only your reckoning
gives birth or destruction
to vim
from your feeble whim

but I will ever call
for the tantalizing effect you direct
to my cells that come alive when you fill the streets
with your choice of a dainty fulfillment
or dark engulfment
of the sensations I possess
and I ask for nothing less

only for recognition
of your influential status
and you claim dominance
oh, World's preeminent
what can I say, I love the wind
Emily Pidduck Mar 2014
Sweet whispers, unlock me
Set free my dark misery
   Sweep paths full of mystery
For truth is a devil.*

It's not a rush you feel, it's fear
A darkness prevailing, soon to be near
This kind of madness, will claim you for years
And all I can say is, "Take cover, my dear"

It's not unknown, you've heard the calling
A seductive moaning befalling
Begging for directions, pleading
That you take place leading

A soft greeting so fleeting
That you've been intrigued
But I sense that this meeting
Will leave you fatigued

And the kind of horrors you shall view
Shall leave you believing
Red has only one hue
That of life leaving

And those villains knew
They've become you
Once again, a warriors poem. Start: regrets of a warrior. Stories told to him of war. The glories of killing with guns, asked of him. Curiosity before the ****. The overwhelming sensation of ******. The horror of no return when you see life leave a killer's eyes and enter your own.
Emily Pidduck Mar 2014
silent dove resting
Your babies been crying
Though lying in the fox's jaws,
Tribute to all those mother's who keep pain from their children at all costs. Yes, both children and mother could be "in the fox's jaws", whichever affects you more.
Emily Pidduck Dec 2013
Could vous just take a second, a moment, one solid instant
to visualize the boy in the stall with more felt lacerations than words of admiration.

Could the bold, bright, beautiful ones start singing
because I'm sick of the loud talk that goes through the motions of lingering
in an echoed room as they "try" to save the oceans - tell me, did we
litter on the way there? There's a forgotten world in stories told of heroes, breathing clean air.

Could the world give one more shot (a mountainous event) because history needs valor.
But technology is further than requirements for bravehearts to trigger a gun. Envision
a man four foot high, who stands a flag where poppies lie because he was that lucky man
who watched his fellows die
I'll say, weaponry wields death to We, naught could prove me wrong.

Could the world be a little bit more tight; bring back the mystery of gentlemen.
We're too loose and on the edge of loss, and the cost - oh, the cost
is sentimentality that somehow became disconnected when
baring your soul and stripping bare became two
and when I meet the one, my mind is plagued that we shall only amount to half.

Could the world be about more than the new, the sophisticated
or have too many eye closed to the life before the Dodo's died; now only
one view: to screen the disease from the rescued swingers, sinkers and singers
ahhhhhhhhh! basking in captivity: to compensate, we take back by metabolizing habitats.

Could the world be about to - because me and mine are everywhere,
but mind: the brain's likely to reach revelation. Clap, we will excel. After all,
when the world explodes and we reconnect, I'm sure each will preach and teach and leech
until it's known - We'll thank Gutenberg as needed, but printer is no master
when the minds are intertwined. But P'haps it has been a bad morning because I've known you
and you've bled true - long been fixing those around, so they aren't torches who warn off monsters,
instead they shave down fangs of loathing, there's no - not one! - beast they burn.
And don't I wonder? Ah yes, I do wonder: that now
Could the world be about to turn?
I realize this can be slightly confusing, but I promise there's a reason for all of it, so feel free to ask questions. Mostly, I wanted to add world afflictions together because each is unique, but equally important and sometimes I forget the ones not in front of me.
Emily Pidduck Apr 2014
Curses to that boy.
For spoiling you; leaving a dent
For taking your energy
For leaving you spent

How dare he think he could keep you to himself?
For months on end
Until I didn't recognize the beautiful you
You were covered in a cloud of him

Curses for that boy
who cursed you
because why else did your eyes so blue turn a pale grey?
if you were not used?

Cursing myself because I befriended him
so I can see in his eyes the sadness he feels
and he's regretful
but he's not
because he doesn't want that path
the one of guilt so strong
where you're hanging on the edge of the crack
and the only rope is to right your wrong
but you both know
you wouldn't take him back

And there are real curses.
If not, then why did that lady who looks so lovely
have such a tragic story?
Cursed by time for the older mother, soon gone
Cursed by disease as her mother departed -
no match for her cancerous beast.
Cursed by fate.
As she made soup for a queasy sister.
Such a small hint, a short phone-call
And she arrived to greet the deceased.
And she was foredoomed to relent her peace.

Curses to anyone who has wronged!
I should think.
I hate how there are two sides
Because then I remember how I used to love it all
And I'm afraid
of that love resurfacing
And I'm afraid
that I am verging on witch-hood

And I was raised never to curse
Lest I become the devil at its worst
real events
Emily Pidduck Dec 2013
She was
                         so beautiful and understanding
   and unbelievably scarred

And I
wanted to be like her
       but I couldn't escape the dark.

And perhaps the only distinction
from the blades caressing skin
                    was that she fought back abuse
          **but mine came from within.
Emily Pidduck Dec 2013
I looked into his earnest eyes
he was speaking from his heart
and he said he'd wait for me
'til marriage do Us start

But I was scared
and I was young
And I told myself
Don't call it love

Each morning Mama'd kiss my cheek
and ask me right away
when I'd find another boy
to rock my world each day

Cause Mama was scared
that first love's too tough
And the words she'd say to me:
Baby, don't call it love

My best friend was sullen
and often teased
of being number two
of the ones in love with me

Sometimes he'd admit
that he thought he wasn't good enough
and he'd whisper in my ear
Please, don't call it love

This made me real confused
'cause the three
were my supporters
but just this time
I couldn't feel
the wings pushing my forward

And one time
I timed it so I broke his trust
'cause he listened as I mumbled
"I don't call it love"

I turned around
but he'd already moved
and I heard the fan
in the washroom
but it couldn't block out
the noise
of his voice
He was sobbing
Hearts were


Next time we met
he held me in his arms
and avoided my eyes
but spoke from his heart
and his voice shook
when he said
"til marriage do us start"
I might touch it up eventually, but I just liked how this seems to me like the pg13 version of a fairytale.
Emily Pidduck Sep 2015
No, my Darling
I shan't ever hate you
for being led astray

Yes, pure beauty
I forgive what you do
when I have gone away

No, my honey
I still find you lovely
at your Siren's ending note

Yes, sweet baby
I know parts of you heavenly
this isn't what you wish I wrote

            former lover

I did never love you
Tis why the pain's so soft
It was never much a cost
Emily Pidduck Aug 2014
and though he kept shining
our love was fading fast
Emily Pidduck Mar 2014
How many times can't I escape the fall?
Or how many time shan't I?
because sometimes collapse is needed.
but judgement is hard(or easy)
but i did
My judgement is off.
Because my falling has become a wicked hole
it's not black it's a blinding swirl of colours
separately gorgeous and together they rip from me the sense of beauty I had treasured now measured in seconds
that have been wasted
as I stand, one of the fallen

when I remember that not everyone's felt four seasons
but those reasons aren't enough

that when cats let go
there's no such thing as back drop

and I dream of falling in love
and out of love
whichever gives me wings

but I guess I'm already falling into old age
But WHY is that upsetting?
FIRST you must fall young

it's what I've learned from the trees - the only way to spread
without the feeling
of falling
to your death


I've never minded desperate falling, when arms shoot out to hit ground first
'cause when you're upside down

that's why I can't handle complaints on falling
dear goodness, pay attention

It's probably your calling.
I do understand sometimes when people talk of falling it's not positive, but this is hopefully a reminder to remember there's always something uplifting. Always.
Emily Pidduck Sep 2015
because I ache for you to stay with me.
The fear of commitment
Emily Pidduck Sep 2014
In the fey garden
there were rosebuds dripping a sweet nectar
that pooled on the ground crimson
wafting a heavenly scent
and the smell made ears ring
and sing with the cries
of the butterflies caught
left to rot, in the pretty fey garden.

In the fey garden
there were sweet fruits swelling with poison
and a fluttering song
caressing the fallen
though the tune was sharp
to the dead they were calling
the screeching rang strong, in fey garden.

In the fey garden
was a mystery told
the mundane, young and old
came longing for gold
they were sold by the fables
but the tables were turned
with the tune
sung of blood,
that flooded fey garden.
the dark side to Fey
Emily Pidduck Dec 2013
Be you! The real, original you. In fact, we detest the fake you radiate.
We don't want perfection
Did we stutter?

And then I think of myself. No, I've no scars.
I mean, it's not really possible.
My confidence is out the roof, heck I'm good at most any sport.
And dear goodness, am I smart.
I am just too tough to crack, I am proud of all the jealousy
I am fulfilled; compared to me, you're weak.
I grow taller with her wistful stares.

Though your resentment doesn't crack me.
I sure get angry for your reasoning.
Because with out any sort of listening
you've done outcasted me. But why should I need scars?
Aren't my weaknesses enough?

And as I think of myself, I laugh. A loud enormous goose holler.

Seems I've become a bully. The kind of girl who looks down upon your intellect. I knew the answer - I knew yours was wrong, and it didn't take long before you were inferior.
Remember, I'm confident.
Because I'm at home, and I wonder, and I find my answers.
I find them for that one time, I blurted right out from my mind, the little detail - I was pleased to know, but I turned around and they'd grown cold.
Now I'm perfect, and it must be worth it, even in exhaustion.
Better be the loud one, who voices the corrections.
Better than the dumb son who never learns his lessons.

Certainly, I'm desirable: fit, thin and strong.
But the girl he wants has a larger chest
than the one he calls his own.
And I could claim as mine
any of the Brains
We could connect through intellect, but what's to happen when
I'm running hard, dropping sweat, and he can't comprehend why I'd raise my pulse to feel the heat
when none of my workouts compete with the videos found through internet.

But the thing that really breaks me is the hatred
of my confidence.
I couldn't possibly understand them.
That is the belief.
So I sit alone, set in stone - practically emotionless
and the eyes that penetrate me detest that I don't shiver
But it's hard to make a movement when my walls have grown so tall
It's my reply to all
the voices.

I've no other choices.

I'll be the "fake" one that you label
Throw me in the gutter.
The real me wants perfection.

*Did you hear me freaking stutter?
I don't like this one much, but I flip between stone-cold and broken, and walking on top of the world, so I though I'd try and write it out.
Emily Pidduck Sep 2014
Showered in her sweet longing
I can tell I would have belonged here
There's only beauty in her calling
I've seen my beauty wracked in fears

So when her fingers brush me softly
she does not wash away sadness
she hopes to light me up
see my heart beat
so that how I treat her
her love.

Yet, perfection isn't enough
I have handed all I own
I am hers to mold

I am pretty.
I am sweet.
I put her first.
I kiss her feet
I give her gifts.
I make her chief.
I am not enough.
I feel no love.

because I have already loved
but love does not exceed death

So her love
this attempt of mine
can only be a mess.
How does one transfer love to the living, when the loved one died?
Emily Pidduck Sep 2014
When her pencil flows
there is a light in her eyes where I have only seen sadness
Through her high and lows
she creates masterpiece after masterpiece from the badness
And in my darkness she glows
but her breathing comes to breathless
she believed the beast was there
until that glow
broke down to helpless
Emily Pidduck Aug 2014
tell me
is my love too extreme?
why do you run away from hooks?
when i give everything

is all my love too little?
should i give more than the sun?
i want to know which one of me
let you decay
left you undone

i would humbly beg
to know the cost
to bring you back to me
even though
my love's so strong
i never let you leave

just one more time
remind me
what makes you want to go?
why do my loved ones
want to leave
when i love them so?
Laments of a mother who gives too much to her children: so much that she has also taken away from them.
Emily Pidduck Dec 2013
I see flashbacks, in my sunken cheeks.
I know how it began - I drowned in five, bottomless addictions.
The first one was a man.

Entranced within his holding gaze,
I strove to please his whims
But it echoed loud, deep inside
You're not good enough
Never good enough
You must be drowning him

So I searched, and found
my deepest flaw,
the first that I must change.
I grew hollow and raw,
and I rattled of pills
the only way to keep me thin.
But he has friends. Many more than you.
They find you dreary and unsociable
Try harder, you act pathetic.
You need to be more lovable.

I went to crashers, and to think,
I'd lick up drinks, for all the laughter.
I was ****, and wild..and they called me ****.
but I had many more admirers.
I thought I was close, so near to worth,
to stand beside his side.
But still I held too tightly,
to that spiteful word virginity.

So I threw it far.
It was so far gone, I barely remember what I did.
There were walls and halls
and bathroom stalls.
Mirrors and paint
and viewers.
And of all that we tried, I hated most that I shared you.
And that happened twice, and turned to thrice, and I knew.
I was still missing what you needed.
But I can't bother him some more.
And so, I bled instead, to self-assure
I still had more, to give.

I made certain, I wouldn't embarrass you in terms of ***.
I cut my arms, and not my thighs.
So I could still drop skirts.
And it worked, I satisfied,
you found me more alluring.
With shirt on top,
nothing below
you claimed 'this *****'
made me glow.
Oh, I was tossed, to and fro.
And my five held me in chains.
At night, my eyes would weep
I didn't recognize my pain.

Then just one time,
I wondered why.
Why did your descending lips
look like fangs and broken dreams?

And all the rage between the seams
pounded my head, I doubled bent.
Before me eyes, parading round
I saw the five, their cold, dead lies,
I gaped and sobbed, collapsed and lobbed
words of hate and eureka.

These were my drugs
I'd made my own
I hid myself, as each part died.
And I buried them inside.

Finally, only whispers.

You can't be good enough now.

Was that love?

Did you love yourself?


Months passed, and only one whisper left.

*Live.                That's good enough
This is roughly worded. Still, I wanted everything to be clear, this happens.
Emily Pidduck Feb 2014
Your thoughts circle round my head,instead of the words heard,there's an
incredible song that soothes as I tread the waves of my mind
I'm in kind with my dreams,seems that streams of comfort nestle
me safe from dread at the thought that I ought
to've brought you with me
but lately,
the safety of your arms,when i can't hear you speak doesn't wreak
as much havoc as before,cause the core,you're being
I've been seeing in my thoughts,my seams-you've broken in between,
because in the lack of noise, your voice, rings out, o're the others
and before they infect,you're yelling
in the silence:
I'm here to protect.
Emily Pidduck Feb 2014
I can break it down -
from paranormal
to spectral
because in ghosts
there lingers the attachment
of a life-timed
unfortunate, coincidental
betwixt those two girls
who read each other
like a book
in my Grade 12 English classroom

with a connected tension
cut in half -
now the remnants of one
haunts the other
because of a lost goodbye
that licks her in her sleep
creating a wet surface
waiting for tears
but she's not yet torn
she's stuck in two
with dry eyes
and Gabrielle pleads "let me free"
but there's no sound
in the nighttime quiet
and Cassie is soothed
by the silence
I'm open for questions :)
Emily Pidduck Dec 2013
I heard them. Your words.

And you are broken, moody, lonely, damaged, disturbed -freaky. That’s what the wind whistles. Abandoned you sit there, barely speaking. So I believe

But belief is shaky now because of this wickedly wonderful source. Internet.
But shhhhh…



without ©

Maybe you, friendless(trustworthy) you - have a secret. A terrible TERRIBLE… it came from Internet-san. And so even your uttered words so new and sweet
A rare delicacy

are all lies because you weren’t smart to begin with and I should of known you’ve more faults and are a Liar.
I just want to shout “I’m not a fool!” ©
Because now I’m embarrassed. For believing you when you whispered “I can’t take it anymore. Not anymore. Please stop sobbing please"
Actually you begged…
                                      but you’re a liar

So I won’t lend any credit because you
are not
the Invisible Original
Too often people ignore their instincts that others are in trouble because they are exaggerating, a classic drama queen, so I just want to remind people that if they are feeling their words than they are their own. It makes no difference if someone else felt it first.
Emily Pidduck Nov 2013
Do you see that girl? Hideous.
Her face is an abomination.
It's no wonder no one loves
that false replica of creation.

And that other one's a *******,
you can tell by her low V
flaunting double D's
like a sign flashing "I'm ******".

Now Ugly she's unlucky; to hook a boy
she needs a trap,
and *****'s got personality
but no one gives a crap.

Both are swimming desperately,
but waves are crashing endlessly.
And our tidal words that lacerate
drown them in a pool of hate.

You could of stopped it.
Was it worth it?
Mocking others to gain your status.

See that ****? He's handsome: a body that all crave.
But he's into art and stylish dress
Rumor says he's gay.

That other boy's pathetic, weak
and never takes a stand.
Little birdy told me
he's missing proof that he's a man.

Now Stupid's got it all - the very hottest dates,
but for all his charm and manliness, no one calls him straight.

Loser's slowly speaking up,
proving he gives a ****,
but all his pleas are over-looked as him on crack again.

Both are slowly burning,
flames licking at their heels,
and they let the hurt devour them
to stop the pain they feel.

You could have stopped it.
Was it worth it?
Mocking others to gain your status.

I've heard the spiteful rumors
that I'm deformed, somehow grotesque.
Standing at cliff's edge, I wonder
is it worth it?


I'll take that step and free myself
from this world of misery.
All this time just waiting for your kindness that could save me.
I am not encouraging suicide. Please don't think that. This is more of a wake-up call for every time you let cutting words slip, because even "friendly *******" can be taken to heart.
Emily Pidduck Jan 2015
is quite different from which I imagined her to be.
A little unorthodox, her grey lines pile up and the path chosen for me
even holds a touch of colour. The red seeping from the pebbles
becomes a rather dangerous flood. I had never believed she might use blood when the dice I had rolled landed on a double six. To most, it would seem her sense of luck is sick. Now, poor Lady Luck has been addressed most rudely with the vilest names by those who claim her to have switched with a wicked cousin. The have linked her name with Curse, Misfortune, even Hopelessness at times, oft because their eyes have dulled and they insist on the sun to shine. Ignored on the days of mist, I wouldn't blame her should she leave. For most of the used disclaim her aid if the Lady comes not with ease.
rough, I'll likely change it later :)
Emily Pidduck May 2014
I've these issues with white lies.
At what point did they become white?
At what point
did I lose the fight
When do they shatter from innocence
to be condemned?
When is it reasonable that I've become furious to no end?
I can't understand the switch of colours
and perhaps there ARE cases
when you'll need to lie for peace of mind
...but then it's okay?
What kind of ****
is one spewing, to excuse themselves?
Because I've heard too many baseless ones, so I'm asking a serious question
I didn't want to hurt her feeling
That's fantastic! Why on earth would you?
If we are looking at people right
If we are acting as we should
Then why would one need to lie?
You find him disgusting?
Have you even been looking?
There are a million things about him
and you aren't smart enough to find
a good one
any one of them?
I'm not asking you to point out preferences and disgrace him because he lacks yours. I'm asking you to embrace your conscience.
Because we were all born with it
What baby chooses to detest somebody?
Is that even possible?
because they have preferences too
and that includes any arms that hold them
We LEARN to shiver
to feel the revolt
to want to laugh
when our bar isn't met

But there are other white lies, that are just too ridiculous.
I had a lot of fun
How wonderful if it's true
but why is it
too hard to say
I didn't have a great time, but this (one thing) was more
to my liking

and I'll say THERE IS something
that's been enjoyed because that's what we'd get
if we could search out the lovely,
not escalate the ugly

and it's not that I have a particular hate for "white" lies
because any coloured lie is heavy
I just want us to
that the price is just as large
Any questions on how this might work out with situations are fine. Don't attack me, this is simply an opinion...
Emily Pidduck Apr 2014
Behind your eyes I see lions
And you know them well
And you fear

Roars resonate in your tortured mind
And you regret being bizarre
You want to stay in line
But the bustle in the crowds won't accept your direction
You're an infection - peculiar
in a derogatory sense.
The howls from the people let you discover
That this place is for hyenas
You cower
Lest you be ripped to shreds
And on your panicked escape
You leave a lioness behind
The one you had named Unique
and her cries are of a dreadful kind

Claws feast into your weary soul
They are your own
As you keep under prison guard
The character given by God
Desperately you cling onto branches
Not sturdy enough to hold you forever
but you'd do anything to avoid being trampled
By the hooves of the many
When you have but a few lions left
The rest were dropped as uncertainty clouded your vision
Until your cat eyes
Did not even benefit in the night

But you are forgetting

Should you choose a weak road
At least chase the antelope
Heaven knows
You were meant to run wild
Not Climb

But when you become stronger
as lions always do
You will run before the hoof beats
Because you are extraordinary
And when you realize
They will have no choice but to
And the mass will part
The moment you roar

And when the herd is separated
Blind or awake
You shall find your lioness
As she is running home

Let her meld within your heart
Let her be part of your masterpiece
Until you recognize the majesty
of your lions

And without fear
When you love yourself
You will see the beast in mine eyes as well
Don't really know where this came from, but remember that each comes across hardships no matter their gifts.
Emily Pidduck Dec 2013
this little girl made a great big wish
to fill the world with happiness

and she was delighted
when anyone smiled
she'd place hand to lips
and feel their mouth twist
and give her own gap-toothed grin in the moment

some eyes showed pity
others pride
some even wept
with their talker upturned
but those little fingers
only registered joy

for that little girl was blind
The first two lines are from a song I heard playing overhead, and I just itched to make them a story.
Emily Pidduck May 2014
Lush green of variant shades
cloud my vision with the hush of tranquility
There is no mystery here
only the simple drop of sunlight that can't quite penetrate
I can remember the times on this grass with you
when we stretched out in Nirvana
and I'm not certain where you've gone
but this blissfulness entrances me
enhances me
so I am one in essence with this triumphant fertility
that makes not even the slightest rustle

And here in Nirvana, I can crawl on my belly
keeping to myself
avoiding the bright sun
until I reach the newest dream
that whispers tales in the ripples

But here, ignorance is reflected in the disturbance
of a shimmering pond as a snake enters the water
and slithers across my face
There have been no creatures here before
and all I can think is what a beautiful thing

Leaves fall down and wither at my feet
branches brush my shoulders
and I am annoyed that they try to hold me back
All I want
is to glide my hand across those scales
to stroke that body before it goes
and I am left wondering

So I bend down before the pond
and I can't hear my peaceful song
and its' tongue flicks out to greet me
so so sweetly
and I can't understand why the snake is now laughing
or why I'm sweating
or how I came to notice that I'm feeling captured
not enraptured
So I creep back, and I run towards the brightest sun
and the snake is gone
as I break through the ferns that snap and whimper goodbye
and I see the edge to the unknown land

Maybe I could choose to strut forward or sink back
but I'm forgetting
I can't image the soft greens
The pond seems muggy in my memory
and your face is blocked, now we'll never meet

And I'm so fearful of the colours that I don't remember
so I plow into the mist
and I never truly "know"
but I can feel
as I lose my Nirvana
a twist to Eden
Emily Pidduck Dec 2013
his calls seem weak
as they fall upon my deaf ears
and echo in the valley

words seem cheap
'cause he whispers he loves me
but i wanted his heart
beating in my hands

my breath feels wasted
as i'm struggling
and your eyes are hurting
when I say your embrace
is the chokehold

i teeter on a cliff's edge
just to feel tears on my neck
it's like the blood
i wanted from your heart

the DNA so similar to hers
as a reminder
you can't feel love at a distance

even if it's there

i'm lost in this insanity
to comfort me

brother, can you really love me?

when i'll never be me?

not until she returns
and i can feel her pulse
in the valley

where the angels take souls
Emily Pidduck Apr 2014
Moon is not beautiful
She doth not shine golden
She drops weakened, white light
on creatures craving sleep

She sits there and stares
At a frightened little world
with her cold, chilling glow
and a hostility deep

It's ingrained in her soul
to make the nimbus look fearsome
ghastly and pale
like a place to hide demons

She debases belief
We forget our star-wish
and thick, we go fishing
at nighttime

And then, Moon releases
a loneliness, cold
and we can't elude
we're stuck in the hole of
This brooding solitude mood
and its tole.

There's no escaping anytime soon
As we start to fear
the burning sun
And I suppose, this is my loathing of Moon.

Moon is contagious.
She offers the aid of her presence, unfailing
When we're washed down like willows, weakened
and wailing

And we can sail under her
Just as the dime
It's a lie that the night's
only clock-start for crime

When she's out from the hiding place
to be bright as Moon can
There's not a direction
No footpath
No overworked plan

And when I remember:
Beauty needs not a rival
I suppose I'll be loving Moon, soon again.
I was told to take the side of love and hate, so I chose the wonderful moon - which I actually adore. To make the last line sound right, you have to pronounce it so at to rhyme with "plan", as I am Canadian and I say it that way. :)
Emily Pidduck Apr 2014
Remember Jerry 'cross the street?
He never said much
But I've placed my life in his hands
Time and time again
He's no longer a boy, Ma
But I don't know how to say
He'll never be a man

And Thomas, who stayed with us last summer
He was part of my squad
Was as straight-laced as ever
But we were knee-deep in wickedness
I hope he met God

And Andy was my partner
Always making me feel small
So I had a man's resentment for him
But he was truly very kind
Putting my safety first
Because he left me behind
to re-wrap my bandages
to stop my stump from bleeding, right?
Oh, and we fought
see, my pride was hurt
I was no pantywaist, I still had a leg
But he just laughed, said he'd come back
so, I've been lying in bed alert
'cause I'm still waitin' for that
man lying face-down in the dirt

But Ma, I'm coming back to Canada
And I only want you cryin' happy tears
But know that I won't visit our little town
Not for a long, long while
And maybe never our street
Not that home-road of the twelve ambitious young men
and little Peter, sneaking into the bustle
While only fifteen

Mother, please believe me
I love Newfoundland
But I'm heading over
to Alberta
So try to pretend I'm fully gone as well

Please don't tell ~
the only one to survive the shell
was your boy
who's gone through hell

I hope the rest were sent to heaven.
For the Newfoundland families, where entire streets would have no sons because each was taken and left in the battlegrounds.
Emily Pidduck Jan 2015
My love is my own
and torn
it rarely grows.

But I promise to show
as much
as I could ever give

It's not much to live by
much less than her expansive sky
more like a stone.

and I hope you understand
Your love is also your own

and I know
that you have an ocean's depth
of love to spread

but you started as a river

I began
just a grain of sand
buried with
the slightest shiver

and each love
has no clone

but if you'll agree
I will bathe you in my own
or you can wait
as I cultivate my love
for that strength is mine alone
Emily Pidduck Dec 2013
My castigation was decided long before my backslide. And that is inexcusable, the righteous might declare "unfair". But I don't want any belligerent accusations against this 'unjust watchfulness' from above. Some entity must have understood that I didn't need guidance; I needed walls: some forcing to reach my destiny. Without my jailer, I'd have chosen one of three and let them lead me into a darkness that the pitiful call 'demons'. Claws and teeth? No, each monster was irreplaceable and I loved them. If possible, if they could comprehend a 'love', I vow they would have loved me. But the Warden took them: my punishment before my crime. Perhaps the disposal of these beasts seems considerate, but toss aside those foolish illusions because the burden has not lessened rather, it is unfamiliar. Omitting strength, for I  lost my foundation, I stand in fear with this hole. The Three aren't returning; I'm left with loose bindings - the knots are the songs of my memories. Beautiful Terrors, do I need you? Let me tell you their stories.

Number One:
I remember his voice calling for me. "Daisy! Flowers for you." It was our little game, and I'm sure he made girls jealous when he handed me a bouquet of roses.
My name was Petunia, but I hated that name, and I loved all that's yellow.
So when we were little he took my hand, and we went into a treefort, and he dubbed me Lady Daisy.
He was 7 and I was 4, and there began my adoration.
Then I was older and heartbroken, and I was calling him. "Waldon! It's hurting me."
He arrived so soon, I was still in hysteria - that of a 14 year old gone through breakup.
Then I cried harder because somehow my brother presented me with a tulip and declared, "It's an early present from the only boy who's going to love you more than I do."
17, and I understood fascination. And Willow (for though it's girly, I liked it more than Waldon, and he let it be) was entranced by a wild girl. She was a shockbomb - a warm sungirl that rocked stilettos and never littered nor waited past a minute.
He fell for her so hard from so high.
One day that girl kissed him straight on the lips, then jetted off to England.
Said he could follow her in spirit.
I couldn't hate her because she left his body, but it was hard to appreciate his body when the government took even that away, insisting he be laid beneath cold dirt. Then too many questions: "Why did you hold his hand for three days? Were you thinking of following? Petunia, why won't you buy flowers for the gravestone?" Then there were horrified eyes when I asked who Petunia was, because I had forgotten. Or, truthfully, there was no Petunia, only Daisy. And Daisy had Willow. The Flower and the Tree: that was supposed to be the story. So I refused to buy flowers, and without any sort of ceremony I stopped being 'Lady' and became 'Crazy Daisy', who talked to her demons. Now you see why I never wanted to part with Number One, because although he was a monster (you can't deny the terror of a body with no spirit), he knew me best.
Dear Warden, I've no suicide in me, and there's none left could lead me there, and it may be that I've grown taller, but I'm practically blind.

Number Two:
She was weak since I can remember. I'd say her vulnerability was pneumonia, which I can only presume led to my hatred of 'Petunia': two words incredibly similar when reason encounters a child.
And I liked her name "Maribel" because it sounded like a flower.
I mimicked my brother, but he was persistent that I must call her mother.
Again, this made no sense until 8, when I had a revelation that all this time I'd had no family. At least not in the heart of a girl, because Maribel wasn't a vibrancy to look up to., though she was my one relation.
There was just her in a bed. Sometimes a man visited but I never knew why Willow grew tense; all I saw was my mother acquire spots of brown. How I loved brown, because it seemed as though she was genuinely Mother, like all those other moms that the sun tans, or that could be given filthy hugs that left patches of dirt. In turn, I always welcomed that man, and he was a 'saviour'.
And Willow's father.
Death found both Willow and that man (I know, now, the difference) before I understood 'abuse', and try not to blame me because she never complained and I thought abuse meant people were unhappy, but I saw both of them smile. I laid her beside him, but with space inbetween: a ground for my casket. Because I'd gone slightly crazy and I was telling Number Two that if I awakened as a zombie, I'd need to be able to find his hand first.
That was nuts. But Warden, I don't fully understand. You stopped her bleeding, but I'm left with nothing. I hear their voices in my head, telling me I'm healthy, but I know I'm barely breathing.

Number Three:
I dealt Three tragedy. And in doing so, I guilted myself into worthlessness. Classic to the moral law is: it is not acceptable to introduce a roommate to a shady character. But I ignored the concept of shady - applauded my nonjudgmental attitude, because with my twisted past I would have also been a shadowy figure. With a sweet, sweet smile, I handed that bright girl over to a Peacock who promised to give her 'a good feeling.' And I ignored her tears, because he said he'd please her.
Maybe if I hadn't been loopy, the only way I could "be" with One, I might have noticed that me and he weren't the same, and I could have judged him like the others.
Annie, I'm sorry, please just shine once more.
Even if you're afraid of me and my wickedness, don't be ****** into the gloom, because I can't offer advice to resurface, when I think there's none.
Now, there's Zero for me to turn to, because that's what I am. I am empty. I suppose that's what happens when I trust a boy who leaves, yearn for one who's weak, and think I've the durability to rely on myself (but I've equaled a pitch black crater for a while now).
You're more clear now, Warden. I can understand why you've taken everything. Since nothing I had would give me my fairyland ending. But where's my reward? I need my gift first, because these feet don't know which direction to head, and it's more like I was holding onto rocks that cut me while they warmed me. My feet kick against the waves, but in this half-in half-out position I can't get a good momentum, so a hand now would be nice.

My stories, did they surprise? I hear all this chatter about monsters, but I think we've got them wrong. Monsters simply have a hold one you, and there's no release before you've no choice but to part. They are strong, and it's true that I saw nothing stronger than the Willow.  Only my jailer saw my potential, and he directed me to Zero. He asked for recognition so that I knew my task was not optional and he raised my walls until I stood there, lonely - pushed into belief in myself. But now I am the strongest I know, and I am walking on wind, and from up here I cannot see a single barrier. But Warden, don't you ever leave because if those walls break for a second and I see my demons, I know I'll lose flight and beg them to come back. And that would be the end, because there's no chance Number Four.
Another slightly confusing one, so feel free to ask questions. Please don't take anything offensively, I simply thought that it's more powerful to have a strong viewpoint on 'demons'.
Emily Pidduck Dec 2013
Rocks and trees
are no match for bees
they are too similar
there is no controversy
neither is worthy of the other

the world needs spray
from the crashing waves
to pound against the rocks
and warn off the flocks
of birds battling survival
               are the birds always so reckless?

everything holds danger
to bring out the braver-
for the souls who are lost
too afraid of the cost
but the gravity
of depravity
is unbreakable
                but you've said the chains are heavy, not tight...?

then, unbearable
but that's why there is two
so while one holds the weight
the other regenerates
but neither has the strength to move along
and this goes on
                 but there must be a loop in every cycle?

that's the struggle
but why rise up
when the sky is black
and just that
             can't they see the stars?

aye, but those lights
are part of the night
that never reaches daybreak
in the stillness of late
                       then later, they will resurface?

                                                    ­I stare long and hard at her.
                                                    So simple and innocent
                                                    and persistent
 ­                                            She's reached the age of twelve
                                             and the universe is her limit
                                             and she dives in with suggestions
                                             to questions
                                             that I have faced
                                             and crushed
                                             while my reasoning
                                             has imprisoned me

Alright, your turn
I can't answer that last one
I'm still sunk under
these waters

Let's see
if you can bring clarity

                                                        ­   Normally, my pessimistic side
                                                           would shoot down positivity
                                                      ­     and I don't believe
                                                         ­  that she could know
                                                           the words to break my cold

Well, my words aren't as big
but I think simplicity
is the path towards

                                           ­     ~giggles/chuckles~
                                                ~our eyes meet~

Yeess, but you've got it wrong
right from the kickoff
so I'll have to start
with rocks

Rocks are the bottom
so trees will grow on
and bees feel safe
'cause the trees are strong
and this composite
of opposite
makes it worth
having both

and the spray of the waves
leaves intervals
so the gulls
can find hide-holes
in the cliffs
while awaiting the fish
see? - survival
...of the fishest

                                                      A­s I wait out her cackle-fest  
                                                      I am uncomfortable
                                                   ­   the simplistic
                                                      ­seems realistic
                                                      w­hich means I was only pessimistic...

And certainly the danger
makes people braver
but it can't be so unbreakable
if you think hard
there can't be such a high cost -
if people are braver
'cause then the danger
just isn't as dangerous

and if there are two people in chains
don't they stand side by side?
i'm sure if you do the math
upholding each other
makes each one strong
and the time they withstand
is twice as long

and if struggling
seems hopeless
when you can't see the sun
can't you feel grateful
that night
hides the demons

eyes can see
only angels fly
with wings that shine
in a darkened sky

                                                                ­                  My brain is scattered
                                                       ­                           as my thoughts are rattled
                                                         ­                         because right now
                                                                ­                  my shadows seem so friendly

It's not hard to resurface
if you know this
and I promise
your scars will heal
because time is the boss
and love is the cost -
and the easiest to pay
'cause each day
it regenerates
until it's all okay

                                                          ­                          I smile at her ending
                                                          ­                          maybe simple, but what I wanted
                                                          ­                          and as she traces the scars on my wrists
                                                          ­                          i'm thinking golly goodness
                                                        ­                            I am a vast pit of empty knowledge
                                                       ­                             I wonder how long she's listened to me
                                                              ­                      and how long she's known I's wrong
                                                           ­                         and I ponder what I know from me

Okay, that seems believable
Ah, crap, you can say it
or, I suppose I should...
altogether you were, completely, entirely, 100% thoroughly and perfectly right
and I

                                       ­              ~lays head in my hands~

I'm lost

All I know
is rocks and trees
and trees and rocks
and bees
                                          ~ she giggles~    ~grabs my hand~
There's one more thing
*It's me
I tried to combine poetry and story while keeping both very obviously, so I hope you like it :)
Also, this is between an older brother and his little sister, I pictured him around 16.
Emily Pidduck Feb 2014
Wind, weather, and gain
Closure, vision, pain
Blood, intrusion, rain

All of them

Collect to connect
for intersecting
that leads to dissecting
of those thought provoking situations
that wind up choking
their creations

And God! I can't stand it

    So let me expand
Let you understand

We have been gifted with elements
and our elemental understanding is that the basics are not good
not enough
not for us

Not when we have pried open vaults that are not our own -
to follow a nightmare
illusioned as a dream with wings

but we loosened the seams
and now we sing
of a broken thing; the noise
doesn't quite drown the screams

   And we're losing
On this planet

! And the broken, they were born
In view of world still torn, forlorn
They've met scorn
as intrusive bodies situate themselves in a momentum
that doesn't require their skills
And the monster roams free
as the people cry "help"
in this place of mine
because they see

The response is a little too late.
We let the quiet soothe
And don't have to choose
When the rain chains their fate
and washes away
the entire State

I've been told: "You're gifts and talents are enough"
But it's never enough
and tear drops will roll

I'm begging for love to brush this soul
and sometimes I wonder who's in control

*And I panic
He's the only thing that can truly calm me, and sometimes it scares me just how far we've broken, but I know there's also the strength to fix it.
Emily Pidduck Apr 2014
I didn't do it.
You've proved
Says my cat circling
shattered remains
and looking
on the world
in disdain.
Stupid cats
with eyes so bored
with the conduct
of lords
and the unholy reign
of each's domain
For shame!


I got into a very odd cat mood...
Emily Pidduck Dec 2013
Well not quite

I can say to anything
But there are still dreams
And sealed hope

Broken wings
Are only clipped
They seem beautiful
As if they are holding onto the magic -
Mystery children know first,
And adults thirst for
At four
When the days isn't done
Or about to come

The moon is stuck in between
Holding the spell for freedom

Our wings struggle
Because we want more

Not quite sure
What that is yet
I struggled so hard to write this, and I hope it works, but it's supposed to be readable both forwards and backwards  the normal reading is supposed to be thoughtful, and the backwards on the side of hopeless
Emily Pidduck Jan 2014
He wasn't particularly special,
certainly not tough to follow
but I only knew his nickname
and they called him "Nowhere Boy"

I knew too much about him
in the form of knowing little
and I quite considered all of it
humdrum scuttlebutt

Some I knew was feeble
such as: this boy did not have dreams
simply for the reason that
he never voiced imaginings

This oddity spread as wildfire
and the cacophony collaborated
to grant a title fitting; the beginning
of that Nowhere Boy

All thought it preposterous
that he'd never had an outing,
none with friends, none to see the world
in place of content, they termed him wilting

concrete evidence
of lacking 'travellers feet'
they crossed out home
as a place to greet
and saw it fit
that he was Nowhere Boy

Unknown was the range,
the contours of his mind
There was no knowledge
of his intelligence
He was not outstanding,
but he never struggled
He was not beauty
nor unsightly

People'd add these up
and regard the bar -
that would conclude
he wasn't going far
hence his name
his claim to fame:
as that
Nowhere Boy

His kindness never reached helpful
His respect was only for elders
In return, peers made a description
that showed his lack of initiative

He was known as
Nowhere Boy
in that
He had gone nowhere yet
because it's worth believing, regardless of what you've seen so far
Emily Pidduck Oct 2014
Quite something
You feel nothing
But you're walking a road you can't see

Haven't broken
Since she chose him
But you're not holding on, just numb

Ten was too young for loss
and Twelve was no age for using
the cost was at Fifteen, you were sinking
thinking of suicide.

Eighteen was wrong for selling
to your brother, he was Six years younger
at Thirteen he lay broken
legs wide open, plunged inside
for drugs he loved
to the ages of
young, prime and ripe
Your frozen heart wondered why.

Papa blames you and Mama hates you
But you don't cry
only handcuffs weigh you down

Plaguing your mind:

"If I serve time, might I understand why
the numb grew strong and the love died?"
rough, but hey, it's late...
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