sweet girl, little b*
pick your poison, **** the switch,
a little recklessness can be fun.
it starts out slow
sweet, you know?
cute little smiles,
giggles and sugar
rushes
rosy blushes
8th-grade crushes.
underneath the crystal moon
after a day of fawns and swoons
she slips into a crippling slumber.
cuddles tight,
blankets, teddies, adorable sight,
unaware of what's to come.

just then, the blight
of frightful disease
one that brings all
to her knees
the little b we
feared awakens with ease.
her eyes glow bright
with lust and delight,
ready to wreak havoc
her heart grows blacker
than midnight's hour
grabbing her knives to soon
devour
the ones she once felt were her attacker.

poor little b
mind surely flipped the switch
she wants to **** over everything
and simply ditch
the voices of reason
they're all sounding
like treason
rather be flirting and sexting than just teasing.
she's ready for action
law of attraction
the power of the stare
and what lies
downstairs.
power to start wars
end a revolution
with the right perfume
a taste to consume
it's the perfect execution.

nightfall breaks
the sun also rises
no Hemingway **** though, I'm not gonna take
another man's enterprises.
the light tickles her face,
warmth
loving embrace
sweet little girl regains her strength
you see it on her face.
knee-high socks tiptoe
to the washroom
brush with grace.
her day goes on as she slides down the steps
while the little b* lies caged
swinging from strings
secretly kept.

when we were children,
unimpressionable
innocent,
happy children,
the nature of a liar
were ill-behaved,
put to the corner
with their pants on fire.

when we were teens,
social lives
romance?
it struggles to
survive
an educational
stress in between
to lie was a sign
of betrayal and blight
one you could detect
from mere sight and reflect.
it was a feeling
a presence
that you avoided
for fear of getting hurt.
it was a waste of time.

when we grow older,
and the jar of cynicism
freezes colder
our definitions change
like leaves in the fall
for the upcoming winter's
frosty display
liars are what bring the bad
days.
it would never release
a more pungent beast
to see them lie to your face
on something that didn’t need to be said.
As adults
we learn to value honesty
Not as the cliched policy
But as a form of establishing communication
and trust in some way.
We feel like fools
when we’re used
abused
mistreated little tools
missing the detection
of a well-coifed liar.
Whether the excuse be
naivety or hopeless desire
Personally I’d rather die
Than to be caught
Or distraught
From something so simple
So easy
As a white lie.

you think that blood runs thicker than water?
that the very existence of those
that saw you from your beginning blossom
to the dangerous, thorny rose
gains seniority?
ultimate priority
to cast away those
that represent
and support me?
you must be crazy
thoughts a bit lazy
outdated
like your mind simply entwined
with the demons combined
with the society's sedated
binds.
catch me if you can
while I swallow this ***,
as my heart pounds louder
then the beating drum
of my adrenaline
growing faster
causing chaos and disaster
that even you would run from.

let's see you try that hypocrisy ****
on me again.
see what'll happen
when the double standards
and expectations
the flawed doll's
liberations
are gonna catch up to you.
you won't be satisfied
til you see me most alive
in isolation.
away from the place
where my mentality curled up
tighter than the snake in a basket
like hell I'm gonna put my
freedom in a casket
to put up with the
dagger words you say.

I'm not your puppet
I'm my own master
and believe you me,
this hypocrisy
is breaking the chains
you've had on me
faster,
faster,
til you're gonna wish
my shine wasn't brighter
and your hold on my strings
was just a bit tighter.

tell me,
what is it about the
unknown that leaves
my mind unsatisfied?

If the camellia
only blooms in the
bitter frost,

why must others wilt?
when the rain lands on
the little girl’s raincoat,
why does it form droplets?

when she sits in class,
alabaster skin with the face
of a doll
why
can I not
read
her?

Softly she speaks
with confidence
and poise.
her words trap me
in a prism:
a confined cage
of intoxication
and mysticism

She’s stuck
in the modern times
trapped in the 60s.

Help me,
all I ask
is to seek answers
about the ambiguity
of her
as she extends far beyond the field
of vision,
to no longer remain
a mystery.

freshly fallen snow,
the area around her whistles with
a winter's wind.
walking along the forest
seeing the words you say
cover the floor,
a blanket of frost
growing cold.

within the summer's gust
of heat and distress
I feel your love
my honor
your trust
slowly dying, I confess
to you without
the help of what comes from above
you will cease to exist.

within the spring's breeze
my heart never put at ease
thinking your words,
so simple
so sweet
misunderstanding and tease
me until I am no longer pleased.
as the thought slips past your lips
I feel my chest tighten
compression,
repression of the accused
obsession over you.

perhaps it is my fault,
to fall so far,
in the season's beauty
buried in the ground where
the leaves are.
my greatest regret,
trying to heal your upset
to only awaken
an anger
a pain
a personal disdain
strong enough
leaving a
friendship severed.

I am the daisy,
growing in the shade
fighting the frost
you caused
without there being love lost
the history of us
through the fields of distrust
I try my hardest
to prevent sudden pause.

I didn't do this,
my plan not to turn you away,
to console you my frost
and perhaps try too much
for a simple touch
of sunshine smiles to make you stay.
instead I lie,
in the fields of July,
the chill of your frost
as the wind carries
autumn leaves by
waiting for the daisies of spring
to gently pull me in
to the soil,
for the final rest.

the warmth of my face
glows brighter than the sun
where a woman so young,
finds herself in love
maybe not with the prince, the pauper, or king
but by the very joy her new discoveries bring.

I could dance around,
my plain white dress
with lace and velvet hair
in the fields of tulips
that once blossom there.
as the sun's glow dances on my skin
a chocolatey smile on my face and heart within.

like the tulips in spring
I blossom and grow,
from a young quiet girl,
to an introverted acceptance.
discovering me,
in its full form
the awkward, amazing wonderful girl
with a love for 80's music
that everyone should know.
when a tulip grows from its bud
in early springtime,
I feel a connection,
a spark of familiarity.

My happiness,
my identity
resembles within that tulip
as it grows into something more,
shuffled in the grass
watching the clouds disappear.
as I lie next to you.
your hair puffy as the clouds that pass,
your skin as fair as the sunset,
your eyes as deep as the dirt beneath us
and your hands as chilly as mine.

I couldn't be happier,
to be in your fields,
where we can frolic
and feel as free as we feel,
like birds in formation
a clock's hour and minute hand in rotation
you move,
I move
without hesitation.
I love you, fellow traveler,
the way I walk and you stare
the way I miss you when you aren't
there.
the way you wrap me in your arms,
never to let go
never to move on
looking towards what's right
and damning what's wrong
simple,
lovely
wonderful you,
like I am your personal teddy bear.

it is true what they say,
in the moments of weakness
there is someone,
something
about them that
makes the world's time
cease to exist.
you may not want to exist
for them
and yet
their happiness
the slightest smile
upon their warm face
means the world to you.
just to be in their presence
keeps you tethered
to the present.
such a feeling must be chosen
wisely,
with discretion
because such a bond
is almost motherly.
it is protective
it is kind,
with no room for toxicity
darkness
and distrust.
when you look into their eyes
you want to be everything for them
and nothing all at once.
their mark is branded
into your heart with content.
there is no pain
as the stained heart signs
its name of your newfound
connection.
why you may ask?
it is the sound of their
laughter,
the way they look
at you
with unbridled affection.

Dear Diane,
introverted
beautiful,
underappreciated Diane.
your beauty glows
underneath the mountain
in the crystal lake of which
your inner you go to rest.

your parents treat you,
in a way too familiar,
the toxicity choking you
to the point that you scream.
life has gone to ****,
yet your pride wants them to say
that you are good, little darling
and mommy and daddy love you that way.

despite the pain,
the mental ball and chain
that they put you through
time and time again,
those simplest little words
make you forget everything.

you gathered the courage,
to leave given the chance,
found an eccentric romance
and a job not many would say
are in their bucket lists
of things to accomplish one day.
nonetheless,
you find a small portion of happiness
in the acknowledgment
of knowing your worth
is far beyond a bag of chips.

when you get this letter,
probably written in red,
know that which each syllable
sheer admiration and aspirations
are meant to be said
and that you deserve so much better.
as you slip into bed
with a sip of Dom Perignon,
typing away
the ideas of your new book,
I could go on and on
in my own little tidy nook.

summer breeze,
the way she once looked me
with delight and tease
only grows
as the wind does,
come and go as you please.
the gentle wind
it flows through me
like memories
of our chats together.
something about her,
as though some power
held over me...
she makes me feel better.
a penny for her thoughts
a mile for touch
that summer breeze worth chasing
for I enjoy the rush.

blissful meadow,
a calming shadow,
my inner happiness.
your words like flowers
the river flowing upstream
for when life feels numb
surrounded by a sheet of darkness.

I walk through your fields
as you feel my presence,
the combination shocking
the result an essence
no true emotion can yield
to.
the kinds of things
you and I have been through
it's astonishing
that we're still present here:
introverts
in our over-sized hoodies
in a small-minded
extroverted world
instead of floating out
into the vast
atmosphere.

in the middle of the night,
where the moon plays
a game of tag with the daylight
I lie in bed thinking of how much I hate how I appear to you.
sweet,
subtle,
submissive and slow
as the gentle kisses once delivered to you.
it pains me to think that
midnight blues
turn into shades of charcoal gray
when I think of your impression of me.
it is asymmetrical,
a puzzle piece that does not fit
to think that the words
so simple
so basic slip past your
peach colored lips,
"you cannot do ****."
misconstrued, I know
given in an improper way
but it wrestles within me
like demons
kept in their cages another day.
my capabilities are limited
to things humane
but am I that useless
to the point
that I am poison
to your veins?
do I make you angry?
do I make you weep?
are the demons in you
injecting their rage
into your skin with every word
that I am to say?
should I react,
or perhaps
I am to behave
like the little girl I once was...
scared,
cold
fear of what to say
disapproval so close to the corner
that any word slipped through my mouth
felt like an eternal mistake.

perhaps I shouldn't feel this way,
when the sun falls into the horizon
and the day is dark,
the clock shifts into another day
feeling so close together,
yet far apart.

maybe when the gentle creatures
rest their paws in the earth,
it should be as simple
as a simple farewell
where we kiss goodbye,
waving our hands.

is it wrong,
to feel so empty,
to be crystallized
in the chilled air, I feel
when we have to say goodbye?
it is only for a moment,
a simple few hours in the day.
I'd even rest my head
the little moon child in bed
and yet I cannot bring myself
to feel content
that the moments,
laughter,
the exchange of sweet words
spent
accounted for
and blown away.

our moments are that of the dandelion,
so pure
so fascinating
as I caress the wisps of your hair
in the fields once more,
only to have you stolen away
by the single brush of wind
that nature brings.

my love feels like a mirror,
glossy and pristine,
a pure reflection,
extension of myself
until I no longer see me.

I don't understand,
why it is breaking me
to see a little farewell,
a goodnight's kiss
be a funeral of the day.  
my hands shaking,
my heart sinks
to an ether
between love and hate
where parting ways
even for a night,
feels like a grave mistake.

I dream of freedom,
surrounded by
fresh air
and romance.
A place unlike any other,
one where the evils
of this world:
stress
worry
financial ruin
is but a memory
washed away.

I long for nights
not plagued by
dreams of failure,
ones that seem so real
I question if I'd ever wake up.

I crave the will to breathe
without wonder of what
I need to sacrifice to
simply
survive
next week.

I wish to remain a grown woman,
with the responsibility,
care-free, yet
stability of a
young child.
I wish to soar among the clouds
without worry
of smashing
amongst the pavement.

this,
however
is my conflict.
I can almost
touch the wisps
of the sky,
yet here I remain
on the ground.
the gravity,
slowly pulling me further
from them.
so big,
pure white,
as though drained
of darkness
and negativity.

please,
if nothing more,
let me hold on just a moment
longer
so that I may join them.

You talk of the future,
One of picketed fence dreams
With little ones running
Giggling
To olden days
Wooden rocking chairs
And paired glasses
of dentures.

And yet, you refuse to grow up.

You listen to the spills
Of a woman,
Mentally further
In her years
Pour her heart
Mop up her insecurities
Dripping with love

And yet, such trivial matters are the topic of discussion.

Wake up,
You arrogant, pretentious
Peter Pan.
Can you simply
Smell the roses
Of responsibility
Drink from fountains
Of dignity,
Feel the air of change
Brushing through coiled,
Unkempt hair locks?

And yet, you still ignore all the signs.

Break the
Looking glass
Where you fall into
A sense of dependency
Stand tall
Like trees packed with
Experience.
Wisdom.
The answers lie
Deep in
The core of all
Curiosities:
Research.

And yet, you remain still, shocked that such words could slip through my tongue.

And yet you find me ******
And yet you find me childish over
Petty
Playful
Concealed matters to shield you from the
Dragon’s breath
For you dear Pan,
Would be smoldered in its flames.

And yet, you feel like Neverland’s missing member,
So painfully
Ripped
From your true home.
Cursed
To live out your days
As an adult.
Pulled away from the
Warm blanket
That mommy
And daddy so carefully
Have woven for you
To remain in.

Poor, poor Peter Pan,
The alarm clock
Has been ringing
For some time.

And yet, there no longer holds a “snooze” button.