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Turn up the silence and block out the sun,
Alone in my room, a bottle and a gun.
It goes click twice, I'll see another day,
Tears start to fall, can't carry on this way.
I can hear the  walls of my soul creaking slowly
As poetry went* from my fingers
Into this **page
Why is the primal
question.

This was written one
week primary
to the real
encounter
:

Language difference
enables my poignant
ponderings to
hide among
pink puffy tonality
of your beloved
mother's tongue. To
dwelve smooth and
constructively
conducted within
your howlin'
domesticated
vowels. I so
become wonder
writer smitten
softly,
touched
by pleasant words
of other writers.
Not suffering.
As I do
in my
original
vaccinity
of no
distance.
Clouds and thunder
collapse into my
deepest core. Tearing
me there at non
acceptance. I tear my
poems. And throw them
into the abyss. Of no re
turnin'.
My position as a writer regarding the language difference in which my poems are created.

My poems are alive creatures, my 'virtual' little me~s, peculiar  flowerin' beings. I'm proud of them! Most of the time. Within the act of writing we (writers). . . discover magical worlds fulfiled with wonderment.

Insight, inspiration and creativity flow ceaselessly at that moments.

This poem ~"Thank you stranger" ~ is about being more accepted and appreciated by 'strangers' than in my
homeland by poets there.. It makes me sad that I  ~ "can write better" in foreign language than in my beloved mother's tongue... It's just their opinion! I know! I know!!! Yet

I deleted so many of my poems, being dissapointed by their ignorance, sometimes considering myself not to be enough..
Impulsive decisions are regretable! I have missed dearly some of my old poems. . . tearing them, deleting them for ever.

Thank you poets for all the support!
Love and blessings from me! IS:)<3
I thought I could hold
the world
on my shoulders
but all I do is give
beneath the weight of
countless choices that I've made
Still, strangers faces seem
so much kinder then
the ones I call my own
but faces change like reveries
and people fall like dominos.
How far can I go?
without a messenger to save me,
or a magic spell to cure what ails,
since I'm never on the mend.
I've been searching for some hope
or someone broken
at the the start
Where all of your pieces,
shift with all of my shattered parts
and you'll shoulder the weight
of this world I hold
or tell me too keep going.
Oh, and if not you then give me
peace by showing
all these messy matters
a life good enough to serve
on a silver platter
because
How far can I go?
without a ghost inside my soul,
or a shell to communicate with the sea,
This world is just to big too
accomodate someone so weak and
How far can I go?
If I don't know if there's
hope for me.
Tell me,
how far will I go?
If there's no hope for me.
Hovering,
grey slow mist,
I hover slowly remembering each word
that was plucked from your mouth the night the
clouds came.

These words,
stolen from my heart.
Mind, makes decisions
followed by regret.
I watch you walk away,
as I’ve done so many times before.

My thoughts linger
watching you become nothing
but a memory made by
silver linings, and golden dreams.
I fear that even if I speak you won’t hear me,
tangled in poison ivy thorns,
I’ve lost you again.

Wounds open, again.
I take a moment
to reject this pain.
Fading as I drift away.
Breathe deep, a weight is lifted.
It hurts though, I’m half
of the whole that we were.

Here I am,
Caught between the shutter of
Memory, I hear a blue jay
Flapping its cobalt wings.
Clicking at me like your warnings
Of how you'd leave if I
Didn't love you the right way.
If I would only begin to want you
Out of the memories,
Out of right now, and into
The future.

The signs were there,
foreshadowed by cold,
distant mornings, crippled
by your escaped gaze.
Chilling my spine, your thoughts,
and desires left me,
in a state of hallowed truth.
Your beauty held back by
selfishness, my jealousy
poisoning your innocent
smile.
This was a joint project with another artist http://hellopoetry.com/LovelyLillianoftheValley/

We wrote stanzas back and forth to one another to create this story.
They try to label me,
Tell me who I'm supposed to be
But I'm not giving in to that.
On a scale from 1 to 10
They try to tell me how I am
But I'm better then that,
I don't need your numbers because

I am perfect as I am
I don't need you to tell me
Who I'm supposed to be.
Hey, why is it we get objectified?
Told we are not perfect as we are
And that we have to change
In order to belong.

Why is it everyone wants to be on top,
Looking like the "perfect" person they see in magazines?
Nobody seems to realise
We're made to be who we are
Not some fake idea
And unrealistic dream where nobody feels good enough.

We are perfect as we are
We can be whoever we choose to be
There's no reason that
We should change at all.
We are not somebody you can alter
Or try and squeeze into that box
We all belong as who we are!

I don't want to sit around waiting for a knight in shining armour
I want to be my own hero
And not let people change that.
Why cant I be who I'm meant to be
Is that so wrong?
Will it ever be seen as perfect
To be who we are?

They try to stick me in that box,
Label me and make me feel small
But I can't give them that power.
On a scale from 1 to 10
I am perfect as I am
I don't need someone telling me who I'm supposed to be,
Because no matter what anyone says we are all perfect as we are.
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