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I stare into the mirror.
What do I see?
A sack of flesh and bone
Powered by fear of death.
I lean in to examine my face.
What do I see?
A glittering mask ******* on by
The expectations of spectators.
I peer into the depths of my eyes.
What do I see?
My soul fading after each tick of the
Clock -- a race to be somebody.
 Jun 2015 Marinela Abarca
Danna
I fell in love with his mind
Even though it was not romantic
But rather raw and unforgiving
There was nothing sweet in his eyes
Or in the way he looked at me
They weren't filled with honey
But with something rather deep
That kind of resembled whiskey
I could never decide
If it was god on his lips
Or the devil in his smile
I just know I craved it
Unreservedly
His fingertips across my skin
His lips against my neck
And the heart shaped bruises
He left there
Were almost a toxic combination
Like raging fire
Only non consuming

But rather devouring
 Jun 2015 Marinela Abarca
Haley G
Friends stay for the good and bad, They're
Rambunctious but rational,
Intellegent but idiotic, Always there
Even when you push them away,
Nobel and irreplaceable, they're
Devoted to you one hundred percent, They're
S*omething special to us all.

We will always call them friends
I'm craving a new reality
My life isn't what I thought it would be
It's not the worst
However it's not the best
I know it could be so much more

I'm craving a new dream
My ambitions aren't what I thought they would be
They aren't that unrealistic
But something is definitely missing
I really would like to further explore

I'm craving a new confidence
My self-esteem isn't as high as it should be
It's not like I hate myself
But I know I'm not at my best
I really want to be something more

I'm craving a new heart
My love isn't as pure as it could be
I don't have hate in my soul
But my past, I haven't let it go
I hope that real love will find me
One flower slept soundly

in the ground

perhaps not wanting

to be found


I picked it up

for it looked quite

lonely



But then how funny

because

*
I was, too
?
Days when you don't even know what you could have
possibly done to deserve such good people in your life
i must have saved lives in the past to have friends like these
Whatever did Sylvia Plath
and Anne Sexton
have in common?

—two great minds
of the literary canon
who drove themselves
to the proverbial crimson

One gassed herself
like a condemned Jew
the other stayed in her car
letting the breathlessness brew
A melody of the swans that
not even Beethoven
could undo

What could have been
in their poetry
that consumed them in
the deepest misery
—like one of a dark soliloquy
or a dying plea?
I've recently become interested in the life of Sylvia Plath. One person told me a poem of mine reminded him of Sylvia Plath's. When I looked her up I learned of her and several other poets ending their lives in the most miserable manner. In fact, I found a list of 100 plus great poets and writers who did it. Even Ernest Hemingway shot himself with his beloved shotgun, to my surprise. A considerable number of them were manic-depressives, sad to say.

Plath's main style of poetry is confessional poetry, some sort of subtype of lyric poetry, I guess. In fact, her and Anne Sexton (who also killed herself together with John Berryman) popularized the style. This is a far-fetched idea but I think their poetry is part of what made them commit suicide. Confessional poetry focuses on the poet's psyche, individuality and even their very own demons. They sure had some dark issues but couple that with writing that leaves anyone bare, open and vulnerable to personal pain and depression could very well drive some people to death. I just realized while reading their stories and even their accomplishments how writing could get very dark. It's such a risky career if not wedged in the right direction. I always thought it would all be rainbows and fields of daisies. But then it goes deeper than that.

And that concludes my little blog entry and research haha. To be honest, confessional poetry is my favorite and most of my poems are of that style. I believe it's so pure and raw but is also the most tasking to write.
 Jun 2015 Marinela Abarca
NV
SWEETHEART,

FOR SOME,
LOVE IS THE CURE.

AND

FOR SOME,
LOVE IS THE DISEASE.
Why is it
That the biggest hearts
Are emptied the fastest?

And the brightest souls
Are blackened
The quickest?
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