"Stop playing with me," the Fledgling begged.
I sat there and wondered for who she had me pegged.
My hands were clean; I had done no wrong.
You blame a poor Dove, and you forget that I am strong.

For must I remind you that a Dove is white, not red.
You'd best remember, before you end up dead.
Poor flamingos can only balance so much.
At this point I could knock you down with a single touch.

You forget, dear Fledgling, that I am the student that beat the teacher.
She was the reigning champion, said no one else could beat her.
You want to play a game?
You'd best pull out now, or you'll be put to shame.

Your passive aggressive glare?
I honestly couldn't care.
Your fake cries of a martyr?
Fledgling, I am not the archer.

Continue frolicking with tears streaming from your eyes.
I won't even notice all your other petty tries.
Keep thinking that you own me, a poor Dove brought you down.
Fledgling, I'm no fowl here.

*I wear the crown.

I just want to understand how you want me to last a month on my own when I can barely survive 24 hours without wanting to die

every time i hear your voice all i can think about is that moment when my lips brushed against yours and you were suddenly alive in a way i had never seen before but maybe just maybe when we pull pack you'll take me in your arms and not leave you won't leave because you promised we can just stay wrapped up in the same sheets that used to suffocate you and while words spill from my lips you can paint them atop the music you've always loved so much but then i open my eyes and *you're not there

my fingers curl around my pen
a pleasant breeze blows by
i have returned to where i belong
i heave a pleasant sigh

A shield is carefully crafted,
Linking and weaving scars together to protect the bruised heart inside.
A shield is not a painted piece of polished protection.
A shield is the last resort, a desperate attempt to grip onto life,
Which is but a fragile skein of thread,
that quickly unravels and easily snaps in two.
The bruised heart is not hiding behind this armor.
A poor heart that has suffered at the abuse of the outside world,
Is simply trying to preserve itself from decaying.
If the battered heart is not secured behind its shield,
The deterioration of the muscle begins and the heart slowly fades away
In an revolting and repulsive death,
Unless the world is merciful and a spear is plunged through the heart
before it can succumb to a lethargic and dreadful death.
The heart avoids its fate,
Skirting around pain and skipping away from death.  
Through as the shield of scars becomes lame and worn,
The poor heart begins to wonder,
Would death really be so unfavorable,
If death meant it wouldn't have to live like this anymore?

A girl kicks her legs while sitting on a swing,
unable to coordinate her young body to move forward.
Her small hands are wrapped around the chain links,
holding her high so she can only touch her toes to the ground.
Her stomach hurts and she frowns.
It always hurts when she tries to play, so she stopped trying.

A teen kicks her legs while sitting on a swing,
not having the energy to move herself forward.
Her bitten fingernails pick a the ridges of the chain links,
holding her now that she is far to exhausted to do so on her own.
Her whole body hurts and she can't even frown.
It always hurts when she tries to breathe, so she stopped trying.

A woman walks up to a swing,
allowing her own child to tug her towards it.
Her actions are careful as she pushes her precious cargo,
cradling it yet letting it roam far enough to find happiness.
Her whole body feels light and she can't stop smiling.
It always was a struggle to keep going, but she never stopped trying.

A girl kicks her legs while sitting on a swing,
unable to coordinate her young body to move forward.
Her small hands are wrapped around the chain links,
holding her high so she can only touch her toes to the ground.
Her stomach hurts and she frowns.
It always hurts when she tries to play, so she stopped trying.

A teen kicks her legs while sitting on a swing,
not having the energy to move herself forward.
Her bitten fingernails pick at the ridges of the chain links,
holding her now that she is far too exhausted to do so on her own.
Her whole body hurts and she can't even frown.
It always hurts when she tries to breathe, so she stopped trying.

A woman kicks her legs while sitting on a swing,
too sleep-deprived to move her body with enthusiasm.
Her hands that have written millions of words wrap loosely around the chain links, gripping on for the sake of formalities and tradition.
Her body doesn’t hurt anymore and she never has any expression.
It always hurts when she felt sympathy, so she stopped trying.

A mother walks up to a swing,
allowing her own child to tug her towards it.
Her actions are careful as she pushes her precious cargo,
cradling it yet letting it roam far enough to find happiness.
Her whole body feels light and she can't stop smiling.
It always was a struggle to keep going, but she never stopped trying.

A old woman is pushed to a swing in her wheelchair,
Her daughter urging her forward as her granddaughter skipped beside them.
Her hands rest lightly and carelessly on the armrests of her chair,
Relaxed and gentle as she teaches the next girl about her battles.
Her whole body feels rewarded and she always wears a small smile.
She never thought she would, but she succeeded.

I sat alone today,
and I felt absolutely free.
The air was crisper,
My shoulders were lighter,
I felt like I could fly.

The weights on my ankles disappeared,
the spring in my step returned.
I haven't felt so alive in months,
and all because I left you.

Don't Test Us*

Turn around and run,
Your too far out of your league.
Why you insist on fighting us,
Is a matter of intrigue.

Do you believe you're brave?
Or are you ignoring your own timidity?
Do you believe you're courageous?
Or are you convinced by your stupidity?

Get Your Casket*

Dig deeper, deeper, deeper.
Dig your own grave and try
To scramble out of the hole again
Insisting this is not goodbye.

My darling, this is your end
I could never tell you a lie.
This was your last chance, last mistake,
and now your time is nigh.

Everyone has a a billowing pillow that's larger than their troubles sitting at the bottom of their cliff.

It's comforting, it's warm, and suffocating as you land on such sweet bliss.

The pillow envelops you, compacting you in a small, tight cocoon.

The pressure forces you to to gulp in air and squeeze your eyes shut tight.

"Everything will be fine," they whisper. "No need to fright."

And suddenly, as you're wrapped up in a pillow, everything seems to be all right.

i feel warm and you'd think that'd be comforting,
but the heat makes me sweat and my stomach twists.
the tips of flames strike the edge of the paper,
as i hold it over the flame of a candle.
they darken and curl, retreating from the fire in pain.
ink fades and disintegrates from view.
i watch as my biography burns to ash.
i can't bring myself to shed a single tear.

tiny flames leap high
for only a few seconds before they die,
blown out by gust of your superiority.

the room may have been alight for only seconds, yes
but that short time illuminated your surroundings
and nothing was left hidden

in a year the flames will have another chance
to fight against your supremacy
and try to one day give colour to your dark room

He called me a chameleon once.
The words fell like sweet thick honey that matched his sandy blonde hair.
It fell just over his eyes. I had to duck and search to meet his gaze.
He told me that I acted like a mother to one, and a daughter to another.
He told me that he had yet to figure out my true colours.

I only smiled.

He studied me carefully everyday afterwards.
Peering, leering, examining every last breath that left my lips.
I chuckled, and allowed it, knowing he could spend his life dedicated to studying me yet never find the answer he was looking for.
A chameleon can only blend in with what surrounds them,
fire, blue skies, dark blizzards, animated companions.

A chameleon can never see the colour of its own skin, because it's too busy trying to match everyone else.

my hands are cold
they're frozen really
my fingers are stiff
barely moving, barely able

her hands are warm
they're pleasant really
her fingers are flexible
always moving, always able

she wraps my arthritic hands in her own
kisses my palm softly with heated lips
she pretends that it doesn't hurt her
that it doesn't sharply pierce her skin

the reality of the situation is that i am far too cold
the most electrifying of touches will never help
i am beyond saving, cannot be thawed

Cover your eyes. Cover your eyes.
You there.* You're better off here.

The world is spinning far faster than you can comprehend.
Coloured streaks race past you.
Keep your hands to yourself, don't reach for them.
They're dangerous.

Surely you'll be better off where you are,
With your eyes covered by scarred hands.
Surely you'll be better off where you are,
where you can't see how out of place you are.

Deer leap clear across the field
Elegant and graceful,
Beautiful and limber.
The beauty of the open grass,
the feeling of freedom,
outweighs the threat of danger.

The hunter stalks his prey,
hidden by the the grasses.
The very grass that lures the deer to freedom,
also leads the deer to it's death.
The hunter is filled with power,
arrogance filling the hole virtues left.

He takes his aim.
He shoots.

The once limber deer is dead.

a devil
a devil
a godforsaken devil

you take her hopes
you hold her dreams
you shatter them into pieces

she has given you her heart
something that I know is not easily given.
She has shown you her weaknesses, her loves,
Something she protects with her life

And you've thrown it all away?
Without a second glance at the stress fractures you've created on her body?

You've taken a priceless blessing,
a rare thing of beauty
and brushed it to the side
like a cat bats its toy.

Let me tell-no.
Let me promise you
That if you even think about playing with her a moment longer
If you have a single though of getting away with this

You're wrong.

I will give my life to protect her.

do you dissociate too?

do you find yourself floating in space?
not on a gentle cloud or on the wings of a soaring eagle,
but on my own, supported by just air as i lose my head.

do you find yourself underwater?
not drowning but not breathing either.
the water rushes in my ears and the voices beside me are muffled
so i am left on my own with only my thoughts to accompany me.

do you find yourself gliding above ground?
i work through motions and play like a puppet on strings.
my feet never touch the ground while my head lolls on my shoulders.

my ears are plugged, my hands are clasped to still them.
the noise of the whole world is attacking me but i cannot decipher a word.
do you dissociate too?
please don't tell me i'm the only one.

Does she know?* I ask.
I can't hide the wicked smirk on my face,
As I see the panic spark in your eyes.
Does she know about the flowers you wove through my hair?
Does she know about the words you wrote on my skin,
Everlasting, never fading, cannot be taken back?
Does she know about the breaths of life in the dead of night?
Does she know about the desperate kisses we shared when we were all alone?
Does she know about the tears you shed over the death of my love?
Does she know about the sins you committed that forced me to run?
Does she know, darling? Do you think she'd stay?

Can you live with the thought of her leaving, because I saw who you truly are?

i'm drowning slowly
it's gradual, leisurely
i don't even notice it
until my head has slipped
under the waves

the surf is cold
leaving my skin prickled
and cold to the touch
i would call out
if i knew anyone would hear

but Anyone is too far away
they're busy with life
something i couldn't breathe in
i can see them living
although they're blurred by the water

i know that here is where i am
i know that here is where i will be
i suffocate in life
so underwater, unseen and unheard
is where i belong

I was always fascinated by echoes,
Even long before I understood them.
To call out for help, and finally have someone respond,
Now that was a miracle in my naive eyes.

When I got older I traveled more.
I explored new places with hills and valleys.
The echos stayed constant, they always responded.
The echos brought me false comfort, and I thought they would keep me alive.

Now I have led myself into a cave.
The echoes are louder here, yes,
But they do not bring me comfort as the once did,
The echoes leave me as cavernous as the place I stood.

A droplet of water falls from the ceiling as a tear runs down my face.
Boulders fall as I collapse in on myself.
Because as I stood there listening for echoes,
I realized I would rather hear your voice instead.

empty beds and wrinkled sheets
are all i remember from that week
a pillow to support me
not much, only barely
and a blanket to keep me warm

with both arms outstretched
i cannot reach the edges
if i roll side to side
i'll never fall to unforgiving ground
i'll only ever be drifting over cotton sheets

the sun shines through linen curtains
casting shadows across a soft gentle face
i impulsively turn towards the light
which a smile tugging at the corner of my silent lips
i spend the day happy, laying in my empty bed

Do you like your world of fantasy?
Where you live in twisted lies?
Your words are woven a shield of art,
behind which, you believe you'll never die.

You cry for help behind your brambles,
where thorns ***** and wolves cry.
Do you realize you tended to them yourself, dear?
You sentenced yourself to die.

I started my garden with a little patch of marigolds I got from the market down the street. They were pretty, I guess. I really only chose them because there was the easiest option, since they were already grown and all I had to do was stick them in the dirt and look at them. I walked passed them most days without a second glance.

The marigolds had inspired me to add black eyed susans to my garden. Their yellow petals were enticing and their black centers lured me in. There was just something about them that kept me coming back to tend to them, to waste my time in order for them to flourish. The marigolds I had previously planted had died due to my neglect, but I found I didn't miss them much when my attention was focused on the black eyed susans.

Not much later, a patch of ivy crept up the side of my house, right above the garden bed nestled against the outer wall. I didn't worry about it at first, I treated it as an after thought until I noticed that it had eventually covered the whole side of my house. The thick ivy had cast a shadow over my little side garden and my black eyed susans were dying. I tended to them until my knees were bruised and my hands were matted with dirt, but I could not save them. They died. Eventually I grew used to the ivy; I grew to appreciate its unique beauty and held it in fondness, but I would never forget my beloved black eyed susans.

With the ivy on my house, I had to reconsider what flowers I wanted to add to my garden. I never expected to be gifted a hydrangea sapling that I planted beneath the wall of ivy. I was much more beautiful than I had originally thought, and I was pleasantly surprised to see that the hydrangeas were able to grow and flourish on their own alongside the ivy. The scent of hydrangeas became comforting to me.

When will this all stop? When can I finally rest? I just want to die. I'm not asking much.

I don't need to look into a mirror to see that I'm turning into you.
I already know that I am slowly deteriorating.
Nightmares plague me,
So horrible I am trembling and barely breathing when I wake.
There isn't a single person who makes me feel safe.
You always told me you were wary of everyone.
Including yourself.
The words that fall from my lips are formal, protected, carefully calculated.
My words sound like their coming from your mouth,
Like you have possessed me and will never let me free.
The wanderlust is the most painful.
I'm pulled by the sharp knife twisted into my gut.
Wanderlust makes me reckless. Wanderlust slowly kills me.
Tell me, darling,
Am I haunting you like you're haunting me?
The further we are apart, the more we see we are alike.
Before too long you'll look in the mirror.
You'll see my face instead of your own.

"always have hope" they say.
"never lose hope" they tell me.
hope is supposedly a blessing.
it is the feather that is lifted effortlessly
the light of every person's life.
it's the purest form of human ignorance.
a wolf in sheep's clothing.

for that one moment i feel weightless.
i see my ideal world snap into focus.
everyone is smiling there. the sun is bright.
and you and i are standing hand in hand
neither of us with a care in the world.
why would we in such a serene place?
and then that moment ends.

there is nothing quite like a crumbling heart.
you wouldn't expect to physically feel it.
but an empty feeling grows in your chest.
the wind has been knocked out of you
along with any traces of hope.

i'm left with no hope and a broken heart
all because you said a name.
and it wasn't mine.

how could you possibly sleep though the night knowing that the woman at the end of your bed is disappointed because you couldn't help her, because you are healthy and her children are dying, because you may not have a shelter from your own mind but at least you had a shelter from the world and that's more than she ever had? how could you possibly sleep soundly knowing that the woman in tatters at the end of your bed is crying for her lost love and the marriage she was forced to have who a man that saw her as nothing but a ****** for him to play with? how could you possibly sleep peacefully knowing that the woman in tears at the end of your bed is looking at you and wondering why you're alive and smiling while her children were thrown into a mass grave after her town was bombed by your own patriotic country? how could you sleep and not spend every waking moment caring for the poor woman at the end of your bed? how?

how can i simultaneously be moving forward while falling back so fast i can't recognize the hell i'm returning to until i'm already there

Will everyone around me show me enough love to forget about who I was? I want to change. I swear, I really want to change. I know how I want to change. I know exactly what I want to become. I going to be who I want to be. I am going to be someone who is satisfied with their image and who is proud of their actions. I am going to be someone who is never ashamed of past actions and is never hurting other people with their own voice, thoughts, actions. I am going to be me.

i've tried to start writing again a dozen times. at least. but i think of every single one of you every time.

most people view writing as a release. some sort of blissful experience where letting their fears flow out of their minds and onto a paper is relaxing. detoxifying. some sort of therapy that they can provide for themselves that no one else can.

i don't.

writing is protection. writing is a safety net that causes suffocation. writing is hiding behind ink that can just barely be traced back to your own true thoughts and words.

writing is you. writing was never me.

but that's why i cling to it so tightly, isn't it?

i don't know if you know this, but you always show up when i need you to. i don't think you plan it that way. it just happens.

it just happened.

i swear, i swear it always starts out fine. you and me, me and you and everything is fine. it's not me and you it's me. and you. see the difference?

it just happened.

i don't know if you notice it like i do. i think you do, and you pull away every time you realize it. i think i regret that one time i told you to think with the right head when

it just happened.

i think she's really pretty. you seem to be happy with her. then again, i thought you were happy with the last one, too. i guess it's not that simple. and maybe you be able to be truthful with her instead of last time where we couldn't control it.

it just happened.

i just wish you would stop jerking me around like this. as soon as i think i'm safe, i'm free, i'm alive! you pull me back in with some stupid line like "you're the only reason i like going" and then i smile and text back and it-it.

it just happens.

Fear me.
Honest to God, you should fear me.
Because you are the only thing I know how to hate.

Someone once told me that I had a heart of gold,
That someday it would ***** me over,
Despite it being my best quality.

I can empathize with the greatest villains in the world.
I can find our commonality in our humanness.
I can see the small slivers of goodness in them.

I find none in you.

You are the worst type of monster.
I cannot even fathom having that type of evil living inside of me.
I see nothing but darkness in you,

You think I'm scared of you?
I can't even begin to try and contain my laughter.
You cannot hurt someone immune like me.

But, sure, if it makes you feel better,
Believe that you have "hurt" me.
Believe that you have some sort of power or victory.

But remember this.
When you have to turn and run, and I am able to stride on by,
Your illusion will be shattered.

i was afraid that you would tell everyone about him. it is the only secret you know that no one else on earth does. please don't tell anyone.

i get that you left. i get it. i've...gotten over it. accepted it. whatever. but please. don't tell anyone. and remember that she is dangerous and i left for a reason.

though maybe you have said the same thing about me.

How dare you?
How do you have the audacity to make me feel like I need to change
How dare you make me feel like I am in the wrong?

I am not the one that needs to change.
I am not the one who is in the wrong.
I am never going to change for the likes of you.

Instead of pretending like you're some little saint
Instead of pretending like you care about me
Instead leave me alone and let me be me.

I am not here to please you.
I am not here to listen to you ramble.
I am not here for you to use at your convenience.

You are selfish.
You are narcissistic.
You are the one who never listens to anything other than the sound of their own voice.

So no, I will not cater to you.
So no, I will not serve your every need.
So no, I will not be your back up toy in reserves.

I am strong on my own.
I am successful on my own.
I am my own person.

And there is no way that I would ever let you make me feel like less than that.

little people with big mouths and shriveled hearts
filled with excuses and pardons beneficial to themselves
pretending that the little game is just that: a game

forgetting about feelings and filled with fallacies
pieces are placed in their perfect position
strung along like stupid, sorrowful simpletons

experience is not something that can be fooled
anger is not something to be played with
apathy is something to fear

love is  patient and kind
love is also obstinate and persistent
it will not be misused or mistreated

true love is not an elementary concept
small minds simply cannot understand
naturally cling to games that only give empty satisfaction

come, little wolf boy
you do not scare me.
i've seen you before. i've met you before.
i know you're truly weak.

behind a sleek fur coat
you hide your many scars
of fathers you have long since passed
once you found out who you are

you're fur is soft,
a comfort for me
after all, i haven't seen you in so long
it assuages me and thaws your heart

you've been running for so long
through snow, sleet, and hail
you've forgotten that you can rest with me
we always stay together though gust and gale

The sirens blare and the lights are flashing
People run in panic, searching for a safe place
Fenced fly up around the perimeter
Doors are padlocked and baricadded
Adrenaline and Fear force everyone to flee
The safe space is lost, invaded, conquered.
As people look back over their shoulders,
Weary already from their journey ahead,
They yearn for all that they lost
And hope that they shall find it once more

I like my lungs to burn,
While your arm’s around my waist.
The sweetest touch lessens the burn
Of such an acrid taste.