It's raining,
it's pouring,
no one is mourning.

It's raining,
it's pouring,
you're finally done dying.

I'd rather be run through
by the bayonet of a musket,
my body buried in an unmarked grave
and my death holding no meaning,
than stand by your side
only to turn back.

you're far too sweet;
it makes me sick.

I'm many things,
or so they say.
I love whomever,
they call me gay.
I believe in magick,
but that's not ordinary.
I'm always panicked,
but they say I'm crazy.
I was born a woman,
and so that's me;
On the lower tier
of our hierarchy.
So when you say may name,
do me the courtesy;
I'm not ashamed,
just let me be me.

Sometimes I'd like to float down a stream
and ignore what is causing me pain.

We were all children,
after all,
we were so pure,
so very small,
we would walk
and we would crawl,
but now we're older,
so very tall.

When we were younger,
we'd always fear
feeling pain,
to feel a tear,
but nowadays
they're always here,
there is no melody
in the sobs we hear.

It's raining,
it's pouring,
this waiting is boring.

They're crying,
they're mourning,
And now I am dying.

I do not condone
your pitiful suggestions
for potential partners
that are so dull,
mundane.

The chagrin overrides
my attempt to no longer hurt;
the burning sensation in my chest
soars through my body
and has salty, burning tears
stream down my face
like waterfalls.

I know loss,
and at first it's heartbreaking,
but once your grief has diminished,
you'll realize it was the best thing
for you.

The harsh bite of the Nordic winds,
how it harmonizes with the moon
to push white waves across the ocean,
it's a true wonder
how the wooden ships drift so raggedly
on sapphire waters.

I've always loved the rain,
but the inconvenience of it
in this very moment
obscures my window.

The rippling whispers,
as the water flows downstream
jumping across stones.
The sound of the river,
it told me to swim.
It hypnotized me into
numb bliss.

Once it has lived
a fulfilling life,
the spider plant let's it's children
hang elegant from her arms.
They don't let go,
never,
until someone takes her children
from her.

I won't forget what we did together,
nothing scandalous,
but always breaking the rules
in good fun.
And even though I may never see you again,
I'll cherish those moments
forever.

Boring!
How dull,
I need something exciting!
Stimulating!
Challenging!
But please,
have mercy,
nothing boring!

You came swooping down
like a blue-winged heron
almost as fast as you came.

A cuss word,
to swear upon a name;
so sharp,
so bad,
so rebellious;
so thrilling
as it leaves
a ****** taste
in my mouth.

You and I,
we are seldom of like mind,
but only together
can we conquer this battle.

I am the Gatekeeper
to the threshold accompanied by
the unfortunate souls
that were victims of another humans wrath.

The ticking of the clock,
rusty and antique,
as though it snaps it's tongue with
every passing second
and torments my everwaiting mind.

The river lies,
but it is kind.
It will carry you swiftly,
carefully,
peacefully,
before submerging you
into utter chaos.

You colour your lips
with the essence of blood.
You cover your eyelids
with the ashes of those who have fallen
at your feet.
You cover your skin with powder
that makes you as pale
as the people you've slaughtered.
You, you are so beautiful,
you could steal someone's soul.

It is a constant duel
to ask,
never demand,
the acceptance of our differences.

The sun may be bright,
but I've no use for it
for I am no plant,
I needn't photosynthesis.

My heart was shattered
before my very eyes,
each piece tainted
beyond repair.
Thus, I'll use a needle and thread
to sew my heart back together
making a mismatched masterpiece,
like a quilt.

you may have collected my tears
in a cork bottle
but my emotions,
however,
cannot be contained
in a jar
for I have far too many.

In a game of charades
I am the jack of all trades,
that is, unless,
I were to have my own name.

"Well, my friend, tell me. Am I human?"

"I must offer you my candor and admit that I truly don't know."

you can look at poetry
with a logical eye,
but you would miss
the message
with lack of wisdom.

A true poet,
has seen the flame of pain,
or perhaps, they have been burned,
to be capable of writing a poem
so short, yet so wise.

i'm kinda over
your love, it's mediocre,
not quite adoration,
maybe just platonic.
that's alright, though,
because i've always been
my own lover.

To be a sinner
or a saint,
it's a picture
they paint.

They scare us
into submission,
it's not much
of our decision.

It doesn't matter though,
we're all the same,
we are all greedy
and seek riches and fame.

The sky was covered by a blanket of violet dusk,
the only illumination coming from the tall, eerie lampposts.
I strolled, slowly, aware of my surroundings.
My feet dragged satisfyingly
on the sidewalk.
It was time that I follow the moon,
she would lead me
to where I need to be.

you were too easy to break,
you didn't put up much of a fight,
i intimidated you quickly
and you shattered, like ceramic.

if you dare speak ill
of my body and soul,
your opinion will forever remain
incorrect,
in my opinion.

you don't gotta love yourself
before loving someone else,
but whether or not you do love yourself
will change your way of changing others.

It lights up an empty room
effortlessly, casually,
yet I still feel the presence
of darkness, lurking.

I have deduced the words
of every person I have encountered
to find the true meaning.
I have read words upon words
accompanied by the smell of old parchment
and even older words.
I have written letters until a page was crammed full.
It would be an understatement
if I said I was eloquently spoken.

The infectious laugh
of a young man
who brings cheer to all
without notice.

I'm not allowed to love you,
but that's alright,
because if I can be your friend,
I may still enjoy your presence.