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Only you can translate
where you are
on your voyage through
this varied farce
called “life”.

No one else can dictate
to you…
or should even dare…
how to phrase
your feelings,
your thoughts,
your personal moments.

Who is anyone to
cause another to feel
inept or inferior
for wording their
experiences as they will?

We are all both
audience and poet,
consumed by the
powerful spell of words
and meaning
we are bonded
in ink.

It takes gumption
and courage
to give voice to
your vision of
the world.

It often requires
resilience and nerve
to open your heart
and peel back the
layers of skin,
and let others take
a long look at the
inner workings of YOU.

Be brave,
take courage,
let your soul speak
in its very own
language.

People will read
your words and
listen to the sweet
whispers
and thunderous shouts
that flow from pens
and keys
to release the
inner demons and angels
and the lyrical
vines that bloom and live
in our individual
landscapes,

fluidly coursing from
our own rabbit holes
with fortitude and grace
and our neverlands,
where we need never
grow up,

to share with those
that need to see
and hear and feel
and wonder.


-by Mercurychyld
Copyrights
it has become worse now
that i have memorized
your presence and

(argh this is frustrating honestly you are akin to poison)

if only i could de-exist
and uncomprehend this
unfounded
fondness for you

(oh no i do not, i cannot be feeling this way)
(oh God please cure me)
i came back here to delete my poems
but
words don't just
disappear
like
that

you know?
If
If this is a movie,
Let me tell you I want my money back

Cause last time you ever
wrote me into your story
I was the girl
who could not make it to the interval


If this is a book that you are reading
Lemme turn the page

Cause last time you ever
read me something
I had to wake up
to find you missing

If this is nothing but a game to you
Lemme tell you I don't want to play anymore

Cause last time we played hide-n-seek
You never started looking
And I had to yell
" I'm over here"

If this is a life that I'm living
Lemme tell you I Want to end it

Cause last time I heard
Life is only for the living
And I have already
started rotting

If this is an expectation, I'm supposed to stand up to
Lemme tell you I'm already slipping

Cause last time you
held me in your arms
I felt a noose tightening around,
Strangling and choking me

If it is death what you are scared of
Lemme tell you, death is the only privilege we all can afford

Cause last time I opened my eyes
I saw how biased life was,
Every one thinks they have a plan
But Life tricks us all
It's been asked before
But nevermore
Why does the caged bird sing?

He's been locked away
No sight of day
Why does the caged bird sing?

His vision's blocked
Out of sight, he's locked
Why does the caged bird sing?

No soul to hear
His voice so clear
Why does the caged bird sing?

But oh how his song
Is out of tune, it's wrong
Why does the caged bird sing?

Maybe what he sings
Isn't what it seems
Maybe it's only screams.
"We think the caged birds sing, when indeed they cry."
-John Webster
 May 2015 Michael Thomas Gary
BoF
"The soul takes us to a place where the body cannot exist"



''Even after my soul
leaves this place, and my
body has become one with the earth;
I shall carry our love with me
always''

B.oF
I was 11 when change happened.
Chubby yet barely developed.
Something laid dormant in my skin.
Waiting.

The waiting ended and the wickedness rose.
The dimples on my cheeks,
Stopped caving.
The light in my eyes went dark.

The monsters under my bed started to appear in my head.
I was starving.
Starving for an outlet and sustenance to keep me alive.

Purging on control and the need for something more.
I first tried scissors,
Trying to see how thick the skin on my suddenly thin wrists
Were.

I needed more.
I took apart my sisters razor to dig deeper.

What I found was a burned esophagus.
Bad breathe.
Thin hair.
Long sleeves in the middle of summer.
And clothes four sizes too big.

5 years.
6 suicide notes.
10,952 secret scars.
There was just no other way of feeling.

— The End —