~

Passion sings
on blue note pillows,
down filled ecstasy
midst satin linens
stealing midnight
in each others arms
falling satisfied
past lilac dreams
and calla lily shadows
floating above
slumbering affection
of two hearts
made for each other
peacefully awaiting
that first kiss
of the new day
when passion will
*sing once again

"Even your own body hates you,
enough to betray your mind."

The coldest thing
I could have heard
on that day
was what you said.

It was a bad day,
A hot day
full of my burning fear
and your scorching desire.

But what you said was so cold
So cruel
So utterly and completely terrifying
and absolutely humiliating.

"Even your own body hates you,
enough to betray your mind."

So we beat on, boats against the current,
     borne back ceaselessly into the past.
I hope she is a fool, a beautiful little fool.
Absolutely real, pages and everything.
The loneliest moment in someone's life is when
       they are watching their world fall apart
       and all they can do it stare blankly.
And I sat there brooding in the old and unknown world.
You can't repeat the past.
You can't repeat the past? Of course you can.
They're a rotten crowd, I stated,
         You're worth more than the whole **** lot of them.
When you feel like criticizing, remember not everyone
          has had the advantages you've had.
I thought of Gatsby's wonder.
So we beat on, boats against the current,
          borne back ceaselessly into the past.

Day* faded to *night
while I wasn't watching.

You were always too good for me
and **** it, I'm not good enough.

I wanted to see the sunset, but
when I remembered, the sun was a memory.

You called me a a sunset kind of girl
and I didn't have a clue what that meant
but I liked the way it sounded on your lips.

Stop that,  this has to be unrequited,
it's better for you, for me, too.
I'm not good enough for you.

*Just leave it to be worthless.

Someone protected me once...
It was a nice feeling.
Not lust, not fear, not hatred,
There was anger,
But it wasn't directed at me.
He looked at me with care,
Like I was a real person, and not a shell.
I felt like I mattered for once.
To have someone step in front of you,
To gaze up at their back as they defend you.
I could have sworn he had wings,
Like a guardian angel.

This palace is made of glass
and I can see every wicked lie
and every injustice
as clear as day.

Think you can hide behind walls and a door?
Perhaps you shouldn't make them out of glass.

I'm not one for theatrics.
I just... I wanted to say goodbye,
or at least explain myself.
My name is Liz and I like to think I can write.
Things have been really tough for me lately, writing and drawing has been what's holding me together. But one can only hold themselves together for so long before things start to shift and slide. Strings cannot hold together the shattered vase like glue can. We all know how hard it can be to find all the pieces and put the vase back together.

Now, I'm not some fragile ceramic object, but i've been feeling a bit shattered lately, a lot shattered, actually. There's no halfway shattered, is there? Anyways, back to the subject at hand, I'm not happy. I know so many people who are so unhappy and so hopeless. It's sad, these shells of people walking around all grey and empty. They look like ghosts. I feel like them.

Yet, no one seems to see the world the way I do. I guess i've always looked at things differently, somehow managing to be the most optimistic pessimist and the most pessimistic optimist at the same time. The way I see things, it's like the world is this grey place, yet there are still splotches of color every once in a while, and they're all the more beautiful for being surrounded by so much grey. I don't know.  I just feel so alone.

I've been feeling like this for a while. Alone, empty, not good enough. Something is lacking and i just cannot find it in my heart to write. So, i'm putting the pen down. I only hope I won't drown without my life preserver. It just isn't the same anymore.

It's been so lovely getting to know you all and reading your poetry. Thank you for sharing those tiny pieces of your souls for everyone. Jan, I tried. To the one who called herself Wicked, I wish I would have spoken to you more.

Hello poetry, and goodbye.

Will you teach me
how to be brave?
How to hold myself
together when all
the my pieces are
shattered on the floor?
Do you know how to be strong?
Does anyone?