a personal ovation for the ones
left fearless.
when you've suffered six minutes
plus twenty seconds in hell,
you've suffered enough to stand up
and scream at those who'd rather you sat down

BAN ALL PASSIVE BEHAVIOUR
THIS IS MATTER OF LIFE AND DEATH
THE YOUTH HAS BECOME ACTIVIST AND REBELLIOUS
THE YOUTH HAS BECOME UNDEAD

Never
Respect
Armed men

who'd shoot (BAM BAM BAM)
upwards towards those who stand upon us,
or
the ones who scream mercilessly
WE WON'T SHUT UP.
this day of march we march for our lives
indignant and poignant,
rebellious and alive...
this fateful day of march we march for our lives,
because your guns aren't worth extinguishing the light in all our eyes.

perhaps my glasses are *****
because they've seen so much dark

how am i supposed to hang on to
something i can't even touch.
you threw a rope made out of thin air
and i'm begging for you to listen:
i'm suffocating in a wall
and i feel like you're starting to fall,
so please, for the mother of god,
forget all the nuisances i recounted
and focus on this simple task...
get
me
out of here.

black ink spots
spread
across her face.
as she pries them off
they become blurry
and they take over
the very face
she was
trying to save.

spit out your clichés at me
and call me heartless,
devour my pessimism without an ounce of the regret that's engraved on my very bones,
chew on the crippling loneliness
that haunts my thoughts and dreams
and ***** out your stanzas of
"roses are red and violets are..."
yellow.
'cause they've never seen the sun,
they're paper thin and falling apart
so i'm focused on ignoring people telling me to look for "the one".

people only realise
how much you're worth
once they've seen the door
SLAM        SLAM       SLAM
and you've turned your back
to prove a point, i'd say.

don't bathe me in liquid gold;
i don't want diamonds, i don't want coal.
my heart's desire is someone to hold
at night when i'm at my most
                                 vulnerable
and when i dream of getting old,
surrounded by nothing but lonely nights,
i just want someone to hold.

the blue skies won't fool me
the green grass can't use me
the far away mountains won't help me
and the cold river isn't freezing.

i guess confusing cherry tree petals
with falling fresh snow
might just be a metaphor
for whatever's held in your soul.
but you should know
that the snow always starts to go:
when the sun rises (up!)
the snow is all gone.

i
lost
              a
       poem

sleepless nights and
she's sobbing,
she's missing,
   she's coming back
and i'm staring.
i'm waiting
for you or something
   that seems to be happening
   tomorrow
(is bringing
   the sun,
'cause it's rising
   the birds
'cause they're chirping
and you're whispering
   that you've missed me
this evening).

i can't understand
how you'd rather be pink lemonade
inside a stranger's head
when you could be literal magma
coursing through my veins and
walking down my throat, baby.

in the end,
it all comes down to    the debate
between wanting to    free caged birds
and these birds not     knowing
they were                      incarcerated
in the                              first place.

she
has shape-shifted
and switched sides many times,
kind of similar to the way water bursts
when placed into the tiniest of containers.
and she
has learned
because the ounces of liquid once lost
came back to haunt her.
still, she hears their voices in her nightmares:
"you're soon to evaporate,
water never really does change".
she
has shivered.
she has spent time in solitary, all those years
staring out to the world that laughed at her tears,
droplets of pure water mixed with ichor,
of blood mixed with sweet, sweet liquor.

but you
have started
to discover the wonders this world holds,
the secrets the water covered
(just like her, she always hid)
oh. please. no.
so you
must never give in
to the pull that turned me into water in the first place
you must remain strong,
a hurricane and a glass of lemonade
cannot compare to honey
mixed in with all of your thoughts.
because you
have been made
with the same razor edges your baby blanket was woven out of
and that is
surely
the most memorable thing about you.

when have the weights on my shoulders
changed appearance, to humanoid forms
and why am i not able to pry them off
if they're only sinking me down
to spin me around

flashing images of dazzling emotions explode
in my head:

i see you leaving,
i see you heaving,
i see you laughing,
i see you dead.

new train station up ahead:
hold on to your bags.
desperate times call for desperate measures
and my zip-locks have failed me.
lately,
i've been feeling down (too)
down, train track height, down;
but the train drives fast and i ain't got time to dwell on what should've been.
i'm moving
free will discarded like a greasy paper bag:
use it once, leave it behind
forget all about it, it's done.
we're speeding together
you & i
travelling to the lands of the unknown
where, perhaps, i'll get to know you.
lay your soul down for me
the blanket is soft, i swear.
i hope we don't crash,
i hope we don't burn.

we're speeding together,
you & i
time's a blur.
we hope we won't get hurt
getting off this train
and leaving behind the world.

my feather has been posed for far too long; ink has blotted all that i forgot
the opportunity to write has passed
and i'm left speechless in the absence
of all that was meaningful

Hubris (from ancient Greek ὕβρις) describes a personality quality of extreme or foolish pride or dangerous overconfidence, often in combination with arrogance.

                           ~~~

on the subject of paper thin strings
i'm tied, we're tied, you're tired
of being ******* to posts made out of stainless, painless steel.
ironically trying to sing your problems to the ashtray,
unironically trying to run, run, run away...
this post weighs me down
spins me around a thousand million times
until we forget that we've been dancing by ourselves for quite a while,
because there's never been another princess like me
except she wears the same crown every other princess does,
and she still sits at the bottom of the stairs and cries every night;
no white unicorn, no black dove.
but to all the princesses that wear top hats or silken kitten ears
you too are paper thin and water thick.
our strings are all the same:
Zeus himself saw to them being made of underfed dreams,
un-photosynthetic flowers that grew out of expectations in some genie's head.
so, where's your conclusion?
we all suffer from hubris.
we all survived the tsunami just to die in the ship wreckage
and suffocate in the debris.
we're all weak, and meekly making our ways along
              these stupid paper thin strings
attached to a post made out of
              stainless, painless steel

i'm running past life
because i can't bear to walk,
to stop, to listen, to see
what you're able to do to me.
it's pouring acid rain
and you're even less present
than
the blood in my veins.

i'm walking past life
like i'm driving through acid rain.
i'm going too fast
"i'll never be sixteen again"
and i'm forgetting all about the scenery
that sleeps on the other side of this timely window-sill.
but what am i to do?
i have to go solo, always without you.
parking for tourism would be the death of me,
staying overnight would get me a good night's sleep,
by which i mean i'd never ever breathe again.

i'm walking past life
like i'm driving through acid rain.

i was thinking about first times
when i came across you
riddle me this:
has this blood been maiden-approved?
or is it decaying 'cause you pricked your thumb blue?