Never ever date a lady poet.
With such imagination sparkling in her eyes.
Don't ever love a poetess.
With bands of roses round her head.
For she'll throw your life in turmoil.
You will never forget her.
Her with words of tempered steel.
Will state out loud just how she feels.

She will not want to marry you.
She wants not anyone.
For deep within the gift of words this widow's truly spun.
Should you win her heart.
You must keep it safe till both grow old.

Be bold if she inspires you.
Igniting true love fires.
Carried by words in bolts of lightning.
Hear her words as as thunder ringing.
Afore those eyes that read.

A fire that only true love feeds.
Compliment her on her choice.
The woman with the written voice.
In dulcet tones of silence, a writ.
She will pick up her pen.

Write once,
Write twice, then only she will write again.

Take in hand a poetess.
With her cruise the universe.
Never let true love be terse.
You may find that she pens a verse.
She's not averse to love.

Her,
She only dreams of heaven.
Twas lost love that made her write.
From many years ago once lost.
The beautiful poetess.
Secrets of pain hide.
Hid behind those brightly sparking.
Twinkling eyes!
By ladylivvi1

© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)

Hammocks hamper an oceans intent
To disturb a slumbering crew.
Moonlight shatters over the East
To guide them through the blue.

The cabin walls of woven timber
Moaning in the swell.
The Captain sleeps on rustic papers
Creased like cockle shells.

Our hero, Crow, sits on his nest.
Discussing with the stars
How a world with all this peace
Could not result in war.

Constellations slowly recede.
Tides rise with the sun.
And withered clouds of discontent
Sprinkle the horizon.

And so the skies revealed to Crow
That darkness follows light.
The deepest trenches end in shores
So death must end in life.

At this, our hero killed the crew.
The silence was his blade.
He sank the ship before the storm
Took the friends he'd made.

The waves dragged the ship and men
To their heaven in the depths.
They rest in peace forever more
As in life, in death.

I was 17,
when we discussed workout routines in gym,
thin legs branching from ruby-red shorts,
skin pale and dappled in winter air.
I described my workout of 200's.
200 crunches, 200 sit-ups, etc. etc. etc.
"You make me feel fat,"
my model- built friend complained.

I stared down at my shrinking thighs,
wondering how fat she would feel,
with hollow spaces beneath her skin,
numbed by the gnawing of metabolism on muscle.
If she could feel her labored breaths circulate
through drained limbs,
and saw the stars and sparks in the haze of exhaustion,
that perpetuated around me.
If she shivered
walking home in without a coat in December
simply because
Cold burned more calories than warm.  

At 17, I learned
Electric blankets were invented for asylum patients
so they wouldn't freeze when they were lain outside
to get fresh air.
I shivered under mine in a warm house--
strangled by three layers of hoodies,
a morbidly comical scene-- the skeletal inmate cowering
in masses of cotton
and still cold.

The skeleton in the mirror had no eyes,
Only its bloated stomach stared back at me.
Forget the thigh-gap,
the stomach was the only thing that mattered.
It should be as flat as the unleavened bread
I refused at communion:
I didn't know how many calories it had.

I was 17,
when the word "beauty" fell from my vocabulary.  
Lank, unwashed hair hung limp to hide the
Inflamed scratches on my face: feeble efforts to eradicate
the hatred, guilt, over two extra bites,
and what I had become.
Here I was, in all my gollum-like, two by four perfection:
except the stomach.
That ****** bloated *****
I wished I could tear it from my body,
Throw it aside to rot on the heap
of moulding high-school dreams
I kept in the corner of my room.

But it remained, day after day,
the stubborn thing stayed on,
even when filled with saltwater,
to force it to give up the last bit of its contents.
Three mugs, and several tablespoons later
it finally relinquished,
in the emergency room,
as my mother stood
holding my hair and crying.
I still thought she was over-reacting.

I looked up at the ER doctor,
middle aged and blonde,
her eyes were sympathetic, but annoyed,
As she asked me if I was trying to **** myself.
"No," I said. Not Yet I thought,
I heard my dry throat crack with the words,
"I have an eating disorder."

Only one plate? said mother
Is that all you're going to eat?
You said,
I've got to save some room for the treats.
That's a tiny piece of cake. said mother,
Are you sure you don't want another
You said,
Well, we have to save room for the others.
Are you sick? said mother
As she opened the bath room door
She saw you shove your finger down your throat
Then you threw up all over the floor.
I'm so sorry, said mother.
Your sad because it isn't her fault
She encouraged full figures
But a stomach is something you didn't want.
I knew you were getting so small, said mother.
I should've said something
And you began to cry
Because what she could've said would've meant nothing.
Mother called father not knowing what do do,
Instead of helping, father came screaming into your room,
You're going to start eating young lady! Father shouts
If you don't then we will have a problem,
Then he slammed the door on his way out.
You wonder what you should do as you sit upon your bed,
Should you allow daddy to hurt you?
Or get fat instead?
Maybe, just maybe, you think
You'd be better off dead..

I stand here lost
wondering what I've done
to make others
despise me

I think back to
the mistakes I've made
the fights I've fought
and my chaotic life

What have I done
I'm so obscure
cause they say I'm innocent
but they treat me like the opposite

It seems like I get blamed
for doing what the crowd does
for following my own beliefs
what am I supposed to do

I'm the definition
of what people desire to be
yet I feel like
I'm unwanted

the worst part is
I'm not sure what I'm doing
all I know is that
*I'm ******* up