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Helen Sep 2016
I like to dance outside in a storm
because the rain
masks my tears
I like to scream in horror movies
because it's an outlet
for my fears
I like to sit in the cold night air
because it warms
my frozen heart
I like to visit your tombstone
because its where the end
should start
I like to lay down in an open field
because the stars
are always brighter there
I like to sing off key in the shower
because it's where no one
would care
I like to kneel in front of you
because it's almost like
Im praying
I'm sorry that I'm saying good bye
but I just don't feel like
staying
I'd like it if the world had more colour
instead of being so
black and white
I'd like to be here again
to say Good Morning
instead I'll just
say
Good Night
Helen Sep 2016
It's not the enormity
of the tragedy
that marks you
a survivor

It's taking that next breath

THAT
*is survival
Helen Aug 2016
Why?*

When that question
bangs against it's cage
and you can feed it no more
Step lightly into the excuses
for they are demon mired
with artifice and ruses
Demons that lay a coup
just outside your mental door
They litter the floor
with bones of regret
picked clean for their answers
Where they sit, waiting for it
they lay a vigil for second chances
When the whisper floats
softly into your ear
only to rattle inside your head
You will remember, year upon year
It was never anything you did
*It was always something you said
Helen Jul 2016
You left me in this desolate place
he said
and my eyes reflected the hurt
full of tears unshed
and maybe I did
Maybe I subconsciously
rearranged the universe
so all the hurts in the world
sat upon his head
In his mind
I was his worst enemy
all the while pretending to be
his friend
Perhaps
I am silently trying
to bring about
the end
it hurts to hear you are the problem, not the solution :(
Helen Jul 2016
Once it was a place of sorrow
where bathing came from hot tears
warmth barely came from Tomorrow
little thought was give to more years

Where eating was swallowing a truth
that was just sawdust coated in lies
Mirrors simply reflected angry youth
all seen through drug clouded eyes

Upon a bed of razor sharp intentions
She painted a heart upon her chest
from the blood that flowed in rivulets
in the indentations of her weakness
She sighed that she did her best

She found herself upon silvery shores
under an incandescent Sun
hoping that she had evaded the laws
condemning her for what she had done

Head thrown back in a field of dreams
Serenity in her tumultuous gaze
Lips curved gently against the screams
so much clarity in a languid daze

She gently caressed coloured flowers
with hands that had never sought to protect
from the constantly brutal storm showers
that raged when she failed to connect

Where once there was only rain
all she could now feel was dry
Where once she was warped by pain
utter tranquility she could not deny

She rebuilt herself in a different place
in a skin that was as hardened as stone
Where her demons could find no trace
far away from all she had known
she never went home again
Helen Jul 2016
A poem, that's not a poem
but gets 2 thousands reads
lands on the Daily
and makes my heart bleed
So much fighting, back biting,
such inverted sense
of there own
proliferate nonsense
Drowning out the artful voices
of the souls that bleed
poetic choices
Sitting in their towers
built from dung
measuring  how meanly
they are hung
while many other voices
chime in and you can't hear the truth
crowing inside the din
it's like an ache in a tooth!

Some truly beautiful poems
that will hold your heart,
most bearing their souls
and simply enjoying the art!
Connecting on a level
that cares little for 'hearts'
just waiting for someone to say
'Hi, I feel what you wrote'
Not caring about figures, or charts

Be you one voice under one name
or one voice under many
If one is a vitriolic persona
rest assured the others are just as ugly


I'd have to give HP
a 2/10 this week

Sadly it's impossible to articulate
while being drowned when trying to speak.
Just to wrap it up ;)
Helen Jun 2016
The Most Beautiful Art
in the world
would have to be
the Mosaic
Sometimes, you have to
break yourself
to remake yourself
and that is the
Most Beautiful Thing
*Ever
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