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  Nov 2014 Kylia
Just Melz
She cries late
                  every night
     Turns off all the
                           lights
         Sits in bed
bawls
             her eyes out
      in the dark
Cutting out pieces
      of her heart
No one can see
                          the scars
           of her sewing
back up her chest
       Soon she will be
             an empty shell
        Hopefully
                    putting her soul to rest
If her heart
                    is no longer there
It can't get broken,
              right?
If no one can see
                          the tears
Then she never cried,
                     right?
Kylia Nov 2014
Sometimes I wonder
How inspiration comes...
Does it tap you on your shoulder to announce its arrival?
Does it sneak into your heart like Santa Claus squeezing his
Fat bottom down the chimney on Christmas eve?
Or does it hurtle towards you in the
Speed of light like a meteorite from space,
Exploding in a shower of sparks and a dramatic
~FLASH BANG~
upon landing?
Perhaps it cuts a hole in your heart and
Presents itself as a headache.
Or maybe...

I guess I'll never know?
The inspiration for this came like a pillow landing, I suppose, with a soft bump in my brain. I'm supposed to be doing my work, but I CANNOT FOCUS. Must have eaten too much chocolate. Actually now that I think of it, the last one sounds like a writers block.
Kylia Nov 2014
And she thinks her thick mascara and
Glittery eyeshadow hides the way she
rolls her eyes dramatically,
And how she
angles her body slightly away from
Me, but very very much more towards
The other student.

The better one, the
Goody-two-shoes, the one with the
perfect grades, the talented one,
The hypocrite
Ohhh OF COURSE she's talented.
--in pretending, maybe.
Seriously? Are you that blind?

But what Ms "I know everything" doesn't know,
is how she goes around raising eyebrows at
Everyone who's not
As good as her,
How she puts on her mask, when a teacher
Stumbles into her radar, and
Rips it off when they disappear, a masterful disguise.

But what
Mr Know-it-all
doesn't know, Is what
happens when a student gets
detected. Once you're in quicksand,
There's no getting out, until you're
made to feel as if you're
worthless, Pure
carbon, when you
could be
a
diamond

All these poor, poor, poor
Teachers. Being fooled so easily, or
Perhaps,
It's just what they wish to see.
After all, everyone loves an angel
...right?
Even if its the devil

"All the worlds a stage"
To some people, I guess,
the world really is a stage.
Ugh, I hate this kind of people. Just had this exact experience this morning, made me feel like puking on her.
Kylia Nov 2014
It's
fascinating how
at night, the moment my eyes
filter out reality, my blanket transforms
into                      a                    shield,
warding off all the spears that life hurls
towards me, only to shatter like
glass in the light of
tomorrow.
Sometimes my poetry tingles have weird, weird timings. This thought decided to flutter into my insomniac brain while I lay under my poofy blanket and worried about ghosts and monsters under my bed.
Kylia Nov 2014
From my ******* button eyes,
I have experienced the world.
The colours, threads that make up this fabric
One which can only be seen--and observed
From the corner of a room,
My corner,
The one under a piano, home to
Abandoned playthings and
Languishing crotchet notes, and staccatos.

From the corner of her bedroom
I watch her laugh, mouth agape,
Hacking out unintelligible sounds, and feel
Feel how the air rejoices at her mirth,
How it allows waves to travel--
Announcing her joy for all the world to share.
And I watch, watch her leak,
Leak her troubles, heartbreaks, hurricane of
Emotions
All into a puddle, tiny as it is.
Watch her face remain steadfast, strong even as
Inside, she dissolves, like white paper in acid.
Burning, burning...

And I experience all of her,
Her emotions, fiery temper, icy demeanor,
Warm hugs, cool attitude, everything,
Like the seasons of the earth.
With my ******* button eyes, I stare,
and I understand,
This entire world that has slowly been revealed to me,
The ball of yarn inside a person, waiting to be
Unravelled.
A person is not as simple as they seem, even if you've never seen them cry, or laugh out loud. There is an entire world in every person, just waiting to be unravelled.
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