The Swing
The old tree is at the top of the hill.
Has a old swing that hangs from its branch.
The swing doesn't see many children these days.
But every now and then you can hear them play.
The swing is mighty still on a claim day.
But if you look at the edge of night.
You might just see the swing movement.
As the wind blows the swing.

It's the ones that get a hit, maybe two
That'll shred your soul apart
It's the poets with followers a few
Who's writing pierces the heart.

It's the poems that you can't believe aren't trending
That are worth a read and then another
It's the poems that are beautiful and rending
That should be on this site's cover.

Your sad and weary caterpillar eyes
Finally helped me come to realize
Our future need to metamorphasize
No more crawling, lets be butterflies

But sometimes I'm as blind as a bat
And I can move as slow as a sloth
Lets order in, watch TV, and get fat
Blame the world and turn all goth
But instead lets try on another hat
Lets flap our dusty wings as a moth
You Coulda been a filthy street rat
Lucky to be cut from a different cloth

Yes you may live like a bird on a wire
You may be a rabbit blinded by desire
Chasing tail, just another skirt to squire
Learn to fly moth, headfirst to the fire

Or perhaps you"re an ostrich with it's birdbrain in the ground
Blissfully ignorant to see sights, smell, taste or hear a sound
Bringing up the rear, blindly spiraling yet you're nowhere bound
Stand up tall and breathe in life, and lets make it epicly profound

Once
upon a time
a little girl had a dream
that she was fading
losing
falling
and she hated it
and grew to have a
hatred
for ghosts
just like you
just like you
just like a star
something
quick
here and gone
in a flash
of purple light
and red fog
something to remember
but never to speak of
to hunt my ghosts
to hunt them down
and drown them
in smoke and white walls
something to hunt
nothing human
the deepest parts
buried beneath
a thousand
falling
shoes
and a basketball jersey
something hated
like someone I used to know
and then
with another flash
a streak across the sky
and the flick
of a lighter
like silver dripped on a wet page
like ghosts
in the mist
of a sad park
          with a sad man
                      and a very sad girl
because they have ghosts
haunting their heads
with a whisper
and a forgotten tear.

the moment you asked me to change, i knew that i couldn't.
i can't change the way i fiddle with my hair constantly or the way i bite the inside of my lip when i'm concentrating. i can't change the way i speak far too much and also too little. i can't change the way my clothes cling to the parts of my body that they shouldn't. i can't change the way i over analyse everything or the way i laugh. i can't change the way i fall for people who spin a tale with adjectives and a happily ever after. i can't change the way i'm constantly nervous and jumpy and always wondering whether you notice me. i can't change the way i read other people's words like they're going out of style. i can't change the way i have too many questions and not nearly enough answers. i can't change the way i don't sleep because i'm too busy pondering the great workings of the universe.
i can't change me any more than i can change the direction of gale force winds simply by blowing into the air. i can't change the way i loved you and i can't change the way that all of that wasn't enough.

It's been a year since
The most selfish selfless
Thing was done

Tears will always fall in June

It's been twelve months since
The most ambitious lethargic call
Was send out

Tears will always fall in June

It's been three hundred and sixty five days since
The most agonising bliss
Was reached out for

Tears will always fall in June

It's been eight thousand seven hundred and sixty six hours since
The most remedying hindrance
Saved the life unwanted

Tears will always fall in June