Ink - Hello Poetry

Ink Dec 2013

I'm too young
To know
To care
To understand
To bare
The situation and its importance

I'm too short
To reach
High enough for the stars
To ever make it far
In life
Because I extract it into bleach

I'm too ugly
To understand
How hard people work
To keep themselves neat
With perfectly pressed shirts
And gorgeous pearl eyes
I'll never realize
Never stop the lies

I'm too stupid
To care
About people
And what they wear
What they say
What they do
How they think of me
What they prove

I'm too
Fat
Idiotic
A druggy;
Alcoholic
High on the world
And drunk on loneliness
An alien
That is their specimen

I'm not.

I'm older than you can imagine,
Reaching farther than what you see,
Beautiful, for I am God's creation,
I just think a little differently.

If you're afraid of the unknown
Or of "things" who differ
The world will move on without you
While I run ahead
Quicker
Than light can travel

(Is that "too" much for you?)

Ink Dec 2013

The Cold

The skin on my legs is exposed and bare as the cold cuts through my many layers.
How long has it been since I felt warmth?
Since a gentle heart defrosted my sore bones?
Since someone whispered to me that I'll live another night?

I cannot recall, so the answer is simple:
Too long.

The cold has this affect on me.
It makes my mind blurred, my memories and emotions congested.

The frost on my face has made it impossible for me to smile,
So my expression is tinted blue with a hint of lifelessness.

How do I feel?
Happy? Sad? Hopeful? Hopeless?
Or nothing at all?

I think I am numb,
But I don't know it.

I know nothing.
Well, almost nothing.

It is the Weather, I think.
All the Weather's fault that I suffer.
That I'm freezing, lifeless and alone.

Ink Dec 2013

Gay

A man
May want what he can't have

His heart may lack
What he desires the most

His smile may hide
His longing or feeling

But it is sin,
They say

So he will hide it all
For society

And pretend to be
"One of us"

Yet inside
He is different

In possibly
The most terrifying way imaginable

Let him have what he desires
For we are sinners too

If you don't think it's natural
Please open your eyes

Look outside and see the women
With their legs spread wide open

At one point that would have been "wrong"
But that changes

It all changes

So your mind should too
And accept it

Ink Dec 2013

I Don't Know You- For m.k.

I do not know you,
But I feel you.

The way your words brighten the page
Makes my heart ache.

I want someone to love you back
To be yours
And make the glossy tears in your eyes become those of happiness.

I don't know you outside of poetry
But I know you must be a wonderful person
So please
Feel free to pour your heart into these pages
And know that I'm listening.

I want your memories to light up the dimples on your face
Your broken heart to make you stronger
Because I can feel you,
Your presence in your words.

They're beautiful.
And so are you.

I don't know you.
But I wish I did.

I know you may not be sad or burdened by memories, but that is just how this piece of writing ended up being. I hope you don't mind. I think you're great, Madi.

Ink Dec 2013

The Pit

I lay on the ground, shivering.

The walls around me are made of stone, they fill up my world.

I cannot see beyond them. Have never seen beyond them.

Instead, I lay in this pit, on the cold ground, with a dark light surrounding me. It is the only light in the Pit.

The light is of the sky that blows snowflakes onto the Earth. Far above, I see this sky and it illuminates this world into a grey haze.

The beauty of it is undeniable. Yet, a snowflake never falls here. There is no white to marvel.

Outside these walls, the snow fills a surrounding forest of white birches and the cold ground.

I have never seen the forest, but it is there.

I lay on the Pit's stone, shivering; dieing.

The whispers of the Demons haunt me. They are the only other voices I know.

They tell me nothing but what is horrible.

But this Pit and the Demons of Darkness are beautiful.

They are my life source and I am theirs.

But the price of this pain is costly.

Ink Dec 2013

The Art of Pain

Sometimes

I feel

The world and it's rough edges

I feel the pain it carries in its heart,

And I can tell you

That it is the best feeling ever

As I believe

That pain is an art.

— The End —