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Hot tears spill
despite the efforts of my fists
deep in my eye sockets.
Even behind the void,
my sensitivity escapes.
Even when I think I've outgrown it,
it comes back like a curl around my heart.

If only I could black out
without causing them any worries,
and in my greatest passion
to deal with my pain,
there's still something left to criticize.

If only I could show
how flawed I am.
Prove that I'm not the perfect child
they hoped for.
If only I could stop feeling
the world around me
as a burden in my chest.
Written 23/06/2020
Moonchild Apr 21
I write so my history is never forgotten
I cried because of all the things I couldn't become to satisfy you
I laughed when I realised I can do much better than just satisfy you
I can bring you to your knees
make you bleed my name from your lips just for a touch of my cosmic beauty
stars have exploded within me
for years I have battled waking up to hate myself
but I am no longer a stone
but a star
I write so I never forget who I was
I was broken
small
insignificant

and now I'm your biggest nightmare
a string of light you want to be under
but I dont let you
for you have underestimated me years prior
you will not get a feel of my warmth
remember that
Written 21/04/2020
Moonchild Apr 13
It does not matter
how much time I'll spend
recovering from my mistakes,
as long as I do carry out
a revolution from under my fingertips.

This paper,this is my proof,
that I'll never give up on
the power of youth,
who all got their dreams taken away.

In this chaos,
I will find harmony,
and halls of golden ideas
and strings of fate
will dance under the light
of millions of candles.

Remember my words,
for you will read them
one day,after all ends,
and they will remind you of
the days you used to hold back your power.

I do not dictate
how you might think,
but I will make you proud of the flame
within you.

Sadly,
there are not many of us
willing to lose
our precious trained minds.

Not many of us
willing to give power
to the cosmic yearnings
inside our chests.
Written 26/02/2020
Moonchild Apr 13
I carry with me
a light of hope
for a better tomorrow
but that tomorrow never comes

I cannot stand
lying to myself
Yet I cannot watch
myself become this weak

There arises a war
within oneself;
At one moment
a wish for something otherworldly
and another
the indifference

Put to a halt whatever
it is that you think you can do;
make ammends
and become at peace
with your inability to feel whole

There is a hole
an insatiable void
inside your mortal body
Minutes ticking by
you no longer are young and filled with hope
Written 25/02/2020
Moonchild Apr 13
The sweat dripping from my temples
tastes rather sweet when I realise
you will be bathing in the blood of your veins
I will rip the laughter out of you
it will become jealousy
Written 12/05/2019
Don't know why I named it Eros,but I like it way too much to change it,so here you go!
  Apr 11 Moonchild
Glenn Currier
There is the ancient story of a shepherd boy
whose king outfitted him with armor
to ready him for the challenges of the day
and the boy could not walk
so he threw off the armor
picked up his sling
and tended his father’s flock
with peace and joy freely erupting in song.

My armor is not wealth or wit
I cannot make myself fit
into the current conventions and hype
trying to conform to the normal type
stops up the energies that yearn to flow
freely and gleefully and urge me to go
to the dawn, darkness, clouds and sun
to wrap myself in words that run
like sparkling streams
and windswept dreams.

Poetry is my armor for each day
where worries and problem allay
where I search my feelings and mind
for the word elixir loosening knots that bind.
This armor does not weigh me down
but frees me to my triggering town
where I find and create the poet me
and the landscape of my soul’s poetry.
My favorite book about writing poetry is one by Richard Hugo, Triggering Town where he says, “Your triggering subjects are those that ignite your need for words. When you are honest to your feel¬ings, that triggering town chooses you. Your words used your way will generate your meanings. Your obsessions lead you to your vocabulary. Your way of writing locates, even creates, your inner life. The relation of you to your language gains power. The relation of you to the triggering subject weakens.”
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