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Jessie Mar 2011
Good children, do not build castles in the sky.
At first they may seem lovely and magical--
Because they are--
But!

All castles have dungeons,
And the dungeons
Are where you keep your
Fears and
Worries and
Inner demons.

While you are frolicking
Inside your castle walls,
In a world constructed entirely
Out of your imagination,
The things you imagine but
Pretend to forget
Will creep out of their
Darkness in the dungeons
And turn your magical kingdom
Into a frightful prison
Of the Mind.

Instead, good children,
Build your
Palaces in
Poetry--

Dance with the rhythms,
Sing with the rhymes,
Build your imaginary world
With words and stanzas

Because these palaces
Really exist--
You don't have to pretend!

Just run away and hide in your
Palace of Poetry,
And paint the walls with
Your stories,
And trap your
Worries and
Fears
In a corner,
And fight them with your
(S)words.

Leave when
Reality commands you to,
But come back when you can.

Lock the door each time you enter,
Put the key in your pocket,
And write yourself away.
<3
Jessie Mar 2011
I thought of you today.
I haven't thought about you in a
Very
Long
Time.

The last thoughts I had of you were
Thoughts of
Pain--
Anger--
Fear--
Hatred--
All burning inside my chest
Scorching to dust that
Little thing
I used to call
My heart.

But today,
I am simply curious to know
How you are.

Amazing how things change
Over time.
Jessie Mar 2011
Who the **** am I?
What the **** am I doing?
Where the **** am I going?
How the **** am I getting there?
Why the **** am I even here?
And why the ****
Do I care?
Jessie Mar 2011
One day,
I made a flip book out of sticky notes.

It was about a stick man who
shoots himself with an
ink pen pistol
and bleeds all over the
imaginary floor.
I named it
"Goodbye"
.


When I played with the book
I found that it was easier to flip the pages
backwards
because the pages kept
skipping and sticking.

So now,
the story is about
a man who is laying
dead on the ground, when
suddenly!
he raises from the ground!
and a bullet from out of
NOWHERE
flies through the air
and through the gaping holes
in his bleeding head,
patching up his wounds,
and landing safely
into the
pistol

"Hello."
Jessie Mar 2011
injecting these words into this page
     like a cure for a disease unknown.
Jessie Mar 2011
The unliving man
     has lost his heart--
     he gave it away to a
                                        thief.
The unliving man
     has lost his mind--
He walks as if he's searching,
     but he cannot fool himself.
Mere existence isn't life...
Time stands still for this man,
     while everyone else
                         rushes by
Living their lives--
     life he has never had,
          and doubts he ever will have.
Existing eternally,
                                is he not alone?
Jessie Feb 2011
There was once a girl
who stood at the edge of the sea
plagued by thoughts
                        and full of worry.
She prayed for comfort,
                        but the gods did not hear.
She was consumed by pain
                        and torment and fear.
A friend nearby saw her standing there.
He whispered her name and
                        stroked her hair.
He grasped her wrist
                        removed her watch,
and threw it into the water.
He kissed her forehead and told her

"There is no such thing as
                                                time."
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