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I don’t remember when I lost my tenderness
And hardened into a thick shelled adult
No more innocent, no more gullible
Like a snake, I have peeled away my old self
It was easy enough, but having shed it
I realize no spring can bring it back!

There was a time when my imagination
Was so fiercely fuelled by fairy tales

How I used to visit the magic realms
Traversing the path from wonder to wonder!
On fancy’s feathered wings, I flew
Dwelling with fairies, demons and vampires
Roaming through the gilded hallways of magic castles
Peering into wishing wells
Wandering into enchanted forests

I searched under pillows for tooth fairies
Lay awake in bed to hear a tap on the door
With the ringing plea, falling in my ears
‘Open the door, my princess dear
Open the door to thy true lover here’
Wondering if a slimy frog has leaped over to my bed

Many hours were lost in fearful suspense
Pondering if the hoodwinked Red Riding Hood
Would escape the claws of death in the woods

With bated breath I followed the three Billy goats
On their way to the meadows beyond the bridge
Cursing the wicked troll that lived under it

Scrubbed old lamps hoping a genie would crop up
To bring things, my little heart cherished,
Looked up to see Aladdin on his magic carpet
Whizzing past the clouds,

Once I left my homework undone
Thinking those helpful elves would do it
While I snored away in the dead of the night

Now bereft of all such queer fancies
My brain has gone into lazy slumber
My world once checkered with colorful patterns
Now lies damp, dull and laden with strife!
One of my uncles staying abroad used to bring for us many English story books. I had the privilege of listening to fairy tales at a small age....
half way there
- half a wing,
a colour by half.

sat for a while,
halved the moon,
half of an orange,

yummy!

what ever half there
- way, wing and colour -
met me halfway,
in total eclipse.

beauty.
the dark oneness.
23.04.2017
I want people to know I'm suicidal.
I don't want to talk about it. I don't want people to tell me it gets better or to get over it.
I just want people to know because maybe taking that weight off my chest will finally allow me to breathe a little. Maybe people will be kinder.
I want people to know I'm suicidal because I want to be honest.
I want people to know that when I wake up tomorrow, I barely survived yesterday.
I want everyone to know that I want to **** myself because when I finally do, I don't want people to think that I was happy, that I had a good life.
I want people to see the deep ugly **** I push down each day, the thoughts that literally eat me alive and push me to the edge.
I want people to know that when I'm in the bathtub I hold myself under until  all my air runs out.
I want people to know when I'm opening cardboard boxes at work with the box cutter I think about sliding it down my wrists.
I want people to know when I get in my car and the road goes two ways or into the lake I want to choose the lake.
I want people to know when I go to sleep at night I resist the urge to down all the pills in my house.
I want people to know that I want to break my mirrors and slit my throat with the shards.
I want people to know I'm suicidal.
And it's ******* killing me.
I'm not the happy girl you think I am.
 Jun 2017 Moonshine Noire
Matt
You.
 Jun 2017 Moonshine Noire
Matt
You found me
    the way fire finds the parched
    forests of California.
You caressed me
    the way waves caress the crumbling
    coast of every once-great
    Mediterranean city.
You whispered
    like the wind whispers sandstorms
    across the Sahara Desert.
You wept
    water-like into the fissures of my
    foundation

and froze

until I crumbled;
until I became a memory of myself;
a phantom limb;
a shadow in the dark.
 Jun 2017 Moonshine Noire
rachel
HEY SOCIETY,
you don't really like us, so what do we do?
so we give in to stringing up all of our words
from our emotions and call it poetry
the same poetry that is left on the doorstep
at strictly three o'clock am in the morn
with the corners of the dollar store notebook torn
hey society, how about you share some of our
deep inner pain's blame?

SINCERELY,
the chaotic souls,
adrenaline junkies,
cursed delinquents,
paranoid teens,
and fluorescent adolescents.
|first official poem on hello poetry
|song of the poem: "fluorescent adolescent" by arctic monkeys
 Jun 2017 Moonshine Noire
Elliott
"It was just a joke, stop being so serious."

I haven't been to church since I was 14.

At age 7,
I was introduced to my new baptist church.
I recited scriptures and played game and was always excited to go.

At age 12,
I was heading into middle school and won the church's bible challenge.
I was queer, I was Christian, I was unexcited to go to church.
It felt like everyone was staring.

When I was 13,
I had my first kiss with a girl,
my first major girl crush,
my first run in with homophobia.
My classmate said **** off with someone else,
my church said mothers should protect their children from homosexuality.
I wondered what was wrong with that.
When I was 13,
I watched my mother clap to the pastor not knowing she had one.
I watched the youth church pastor make fun of queer kids, not knowing he had some in the room.
I watched a girl I knew was gay clap along like she wasn't one of them
-one of us.
When I was 13,
I watched my first crush date my best friend,
she didn't want anyone to know she was gay.
When I was 13,
I came out to my family.

When I was 14,
I went to church for one last time,
A woman prayed the devil take this phase out of me, and put the holy spirit in.
I broke down in Walmart afterwards.

My mother said I never had to go back to that church again.
I still have some dreams about it.

When I was 15,
I declared no religion, I declared no ties to anyone.
I was just black & queer.
Churches make me nervous
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