They need to realise, that one day,
she will walk away, and they will never see her again.

Daffodil, sweetheart you're just like the rest,
plain and simple, still ugly at your best,
your colours are dull and you don't have a nice smell,
there's hundreds and thousands of you, oh
small and fragile daffodil, you thought you were
special sadly you're not, you even lack the
simplistic things the weeds have got,
you look like a unfinished piece that God forgot,
why do you try so hard to be that beautiful rose
because it seems to be that everyone but you
knows,
its hard to be a sweet sweet Daffodil, but that's what you are.

the unbreakable balance of,
small tiptoes past, 
quite smiles and loud eyes,
the unasked for hugs and hellos,
the unbreakable balance.
tone deaf competitions,
and stupid little things
those beautifully footed decisions
and thankful regrets,
crumpled notes and shared sandwiches,
the unbreakable

I'm restless, I cant sleep.
This lump in my throat,
The burn in my eyes, the cold in my feet.
The salt on my cheeks, the pain in my back,
I'm restless, I cant sleep.
The pictures in my mind, when i close my eyes,
The sounds in my head, when I think too far,
The memories I feel, the wounds that wont heal.
I'm restless  and I cant sleep.
I'm afraid of what I'll be, if I cant wake up,
And be the person i was, before I was this me.

our house was always changing, from the red hot, blistering arguments, to the cold dark silence that lurked in the hallways,
it would change to the colourful cool shade that spring brings, laughter could be heard, the colour would drain and the shade would be lost, soon giving way for the blistering hot. it was not unknown of, this bi-polar house always changing and always not.

wish I could go back,
to a time where I didn't understand,
what I felt. because now that I know,
it's crushing me.

shaking frustrations, heart aching situations,
she breaks her fingers in a brick wall confrontation
red/black/orange/purple seep from the opaque -
white knuckles, squeezing tight
she rips the papers, shreds she dreads
broken frames, abandoned - afraid,
the expectations, sit heavy - break her neck
her head hangs
fists and wrists - left -
contorted.

I feel that of those I hate,
I cry the words of their fate,
I see the world in which they lie,
the somber meaning of their cry,
I hear the wind that cuts beneath their feet,
I tremble as they accept defeat.

What is all this worth?
Pain?
Suffering?
Unhappiness?
Will I only find peace after the end?
Will it ever end?

highly he sits on his pure white stallion, blameless and truthful, or so he portrays himself to be.
he thinks himself to be the one the words are directed at, but he dare point the finger at himself, he thinks himself to be to perfectly unperfect that he could ever do such a thing
he asks of me such little things not knowing they stand on mountains
I dare not speak of her to him, he jumps quickly from his royal perch and rains his thunder down on my back
oh how you think you own the world dearly beloved, so gallop away on your mule and grab your sensitive precious princess and run away to your little Kingdom where you have no rule apon me!
-m

I always heard of the stories,
of what happened behind closed doors,
what people whispered about when it was spoken about on the news,

when you don't even bat and eyelid,
because it will never happen to you-
You'll never know that pain -

I thought -
And now, I cry. Because I was so fortunate before
And now I can't look at myself the same way.
I cant think the same way,
It -
Hurts to know I will never be the same.
Never.

Does it ever end,
this expanse of pain, and suffering.
I dont understand why,
why am I hear if I all I seemed to do is cry and waste away and crawl further into myself.
Please explain why I seem to see no end to this feeling i feel all the time.
Pain,
no matter if i am genuinely happy or sad, theres just this pain I feel.
Like I'm constantly in pain just for existing.
As if it will ever end as long as I have breathe in my lungs and speech on my tongue. It will just be pain.
I dont understand why.

the little blue bird from my dream,
it told me I would be okay,
it told me I would get through it,
it told me not to worry
but then,
that little blue bird from my dream died.

I can't do this anymore,
I just cant.

as she finally tasted the sweet nectar of freedom, it was ripped from underneath her feet, taken as a prize of her joy. taken because woman were the ones to be taken from, not given too

nameless acts, frowned upon the crease of their eyebrows and the purse of their lips. acts tasted by few, and by even fewer than they, held carefully on the tip of their tongue, afraid to let the act fall away, but to afraid to gulp it down. act at which most must act upon is seen as no more than a one second glance.

so theres this ocean,
big and blue,
beautiful.
so much life breathing in its waters,
how could I have seen?
the death that swam beneath.

mama, I love you,
but you just dont see,
how the joy has left me.
I no longer feel,
from the tips of my fingers
to my toes.
I feel absolutely
nothing.
mama I wish you would listen
when I say,
maybe I could learn to feel again.
but mama says,
it isnt real.
it will pass.
pray.
stop thinking so much.
mama,
I'm trying.

a young girl questioned the Oak Trees on their wisdom,
they told her she was too young to worry about the future,
they promised to share their wisdom once she had grown,
a young boy questioned the Oak Trees on their knowledge,
they told him he was too young to care about gaining knowledge,
they promised him to have knowledge once he was grown,
years later
the boy came back to question the Oak Trees on their knowledge,
the Oak Trees replied, that knowledge was useless with out the wisdom to use it.
the young girl never came back.

she never liked mirrors
they never told her good things.

why was my existence necessary, my lack of actuality,
as I have become; nothing, nothing, nothing
what is the purpose of my conscious, if for nothing but
my self abuse.
what use is this subjection to vile, unreasonable hate and
disappointment.
why was I created, to become a after thought, unneeded
for I cannot contemplate the reasoning behind my being.

I've always wondered where this pain in my head comes from, where it goes when the tears have numbed my face. I wonder why it comes, why it chooses to stay here, in my head. It's made itself comfortable in there. so it comes by more often. when it leaves does it go to someone else's head? or does it prefer the closed limitations of mine?

why do we let people in
that we know will hurt us
why do we feel things
that we don't really understand
why do we change ourselves
in order to be accepted
why is really the question,
but its never
for whom.

small spaces/no air, blackened eyes and ******* hair, keys/gone underneath the chair, keep looking/ find it no where, no light/ switch to the dark ones, empty beds/heads filled with questions/answers to complicated situations/ excavations of the past/ at last I find the keys/ he's my answer/dancer in the light, long nights left alone in the dark, searching for my one true side, we collide like a fork and a spoon/ curving soon to the metal handle, like 3 arms holding up these candles. red hot flame, burns the blame/ game for us to play/say do you hear the silence that is conveyed/ raid their hearts and fill their lungs with smoke and jokes/ notes stuck up on this wall, waiting to fall, like leaves/ he leaves me bare to the branch, I'm left standing on my own two feet/beat to the finish line/ spine traced and bent to carry the key for the next generation/ they want an explanation, why she is so broken/ outspoken, a her but not here. come on dear fetch me a beer

the curtain. this metaphorical object,
drawn over the eyes of those who protest against
their sight, this curtain of dark unwanted thoughts,
reins freely behind these hanging cloths, the protester
seems to speak of the light, yet is stuck behind the
curtain. this metaphorical object.

He hates the world so much it seems,
he wishes he could be gone in his dreams,
he fights his battles alone, his scars are the glinting tears his fears have forgotten.
his anger breaks the silent void that fill his house with noise.
He spits his words so hatefully
without reason he breaks the broken,
he trys to buy peoples hearts with money
if only we were to love the things
if you could see me, how much I am like you would, would you hate me more than you already do.

She is angry but is forced to be so still and silent.
She is broken and is given weak tape to fix herself.
She is unhappy but can fake a smile without a doubt.
She is the daughter you wished you had drowned as a baby.
She is unperfect and a rash you cannot get rid of.
She is a weight on your back you've carried for 18 years and just dropped.
She is a fighter you can beat down but never defeat.
She is a scar in society that you created.
She is your daughter.

broken, shards, lay strew across her eyes,
and black holes fill her cheeks, leaves
sewn into her lips, hands are replaced with
plastic bottles, twisted and obscure.
ash and fire burn into her core, leaving
dust that fills her nose and mouth,
her skin is dark purple, bruised and sore.

I guess I can't blame them,
for not asking me how I am,
when I smile, and laugh,  
and pretend.
when all I want is someone
to say
it's going to be okay.
Even when I know it's not.

she walks amongst the broken glass,
careful toes and silent cries as she cuts her feet.
two rivers flow gentle southward, curving in the crevices of her cheeks. she's hold her head high and proud, as sand blasts her in her face. rocks fall upon her shoulders digging new holes in her red jacket leather. her voice is low, it sings a tune, of a blue bird she dreamt of. her feet keep walking and walking on, set on a empty future. her hands are artworks and artists, cut and cutting beautiful patterns into white canvas, tearing away the innocent left behind. the thunder and clouds shout endless rainstorms, they wash away the tears, blood and pain. they bring a static numbness that seems to last forever, until the lightning brings his brothers friend. a silver dagger, so beautiful so hideous, it cuts open her chest to find an empty cavity with nothing but flesh left, a heart lies dormant, it's pulse gone. her soul is lifted to another level, a place where nothing exists. her mind stares blank at this screen, lost in nothingness. but her body is stuck in this bed, the house no longer a home, waiting for the minutes to reach, the hours to end, so she can sleep and dream, ****** dreams, wake up and carry on with what life brings

there's this, fire. inside of me.
that I don't understand.
but it understands me.
it knows my fears, and my hate.
it fuels my intentions,
it burns a dark red,
and it speaks in tongues,
it feels the disgust that lurks
in my heart.

she spirals out of control, like a blown away dandelion. broken by society flinging her rawly into the world of plastic flowers. she lands when the wind can't break her fall, smashing her dreams into concrete. her little seeds of happiness trodden on and lost is all she has left of her once beautiful self
-moyees

She wonders, where his heart is, if it carries her name like it does all his sins and burdens, she worries that his heart is filled with regret and hatred than it does love. she hopes his heart is kept safe from broken things, she hopes one day he'll put his heart in careful hands as capable as his own

oh Red, I see your anguish, the fire that burns between your wings,
why are you so enraged. why do you say that you wont fly because the sky is too dark for your eyes. red bird, tell me of the future, what do you seen beyond the clouds. is better than what lies now.

mindless he drifts into unknown worlds,
where nothing exists and nothing resists,
temptations to create or become,
he just continues to drifts amongst
the bright rainbow colours of the
void he drifts, unknowning of how
far he has drifted. continuously
never going anywhere, staying, going
never leaving the nothing.

Her soul is a fire, it burns with an intent.
not to harm or cause destruction to those
 she crosses paths with.
But to keep those close to her warm and safe,
However,
if you dare to step into her flames unprotected you will burn inconveniently, if you dare to throw water to douse her she will break out stronger that you think.
Her soul is a fire, think again when you speak to her.
-moyees

So much to say,
no one to talk too.

/day 1/

she is a broken woman, down and confused.
taken for granted and is never amused.
she is a warden that stalks the halls in the afternoon but is a broken bird who quietly sings at night.
she is a lonely soul looking for love
afraid to leave the one she does.
she wishes she was dead because she's depressed and has no hope for a future.
she dreams of being in the dark nothingness because there had been no light in her life for years.
she is my mother.

' The comparison between the big fish in a small pond and a small fish in the ocean can be related to an egotistical man who finds himself the big shot but is locked in such a small world he has no real dreams or aspirations, all he can do is swim around his small pond of knowledge because that's all he knows. Yet the small fish, a boy who's only wish is to be better and dreams of new possibilities has the entire ocean to explore because even though he's not the big fish, he knows there's more out there than a simple pond of life, thoughts and dreams. The bigger dream is no more important that the small dreams, just as the small fish isn't less important than the big fish
-m

speak it! speak it against me, I know it burns you to spit such fire. Yet you think it! because the mind runs wild, while the mouth remains mild.
speak it! I dare you! for once you open your mouth to the thoughts you think, you cannot close the broken door. you think weak smiles and half hearted replies will suffice this line.
For this line is disconnected and you cannot phone back.
So spit it! For I do not hear your childish unwanted thoughts of me, oh speak it against me.
-m

he is unruly, he is but a ****** word
that no righteous tongue will speak,
he is but a old dusty book, unread,
grey with it, he rubs his name from
those he wishes for unseen, and for
one he stays on the line, on beck
and call, but for any other, such as
me, he waits, or does not wait.
for he knows I speak such truths.
he sees the line from which I write,
but I shall never protest his name
for that would be an unrighteous
fate
-moyees

there are three kinds of people, the breakers, the fixers and the broken, the breakers cannot handle happiness in others and so they have to break those who are happy, the fixers are the ones who cannot handle others being in sadness or dispair and they do all they can to fix the broken, the broken people are the ones lost between being breakers and fixers, constantly breaking themselves down and trying to repair themselves back to normal again. /and everyone is trying to find there place between the breakers, the fixers and the broken, everyone wants to be a fixed person perfectly okay without cracks or broken pieces, but there are only three kinds of people.

-moyees

flashes of eyelashes, flickered back and forth
glinting of teeth, dancing pearls in a red lipped sea.
rivers and canyons of golden, flocks of hummingbirds, flapping a wind chime.
dancing trees, and tips of thumbs, outlines of dimples, roads to nowhere.
blue chipped light bulbs, freckled with white snow drops