She is seventeen

She heard his wish - the boy who wished upon her at the balcony. She heard his worries. About how he is worried of not passing his examination, about the way his parents treat him and about the way his heart never settles since the day he left his significant other.
                             "Was it my fault?"
He asked as he buried his head in his palms and stare at the falling stars on that one lucky night. A moment there he felt like the star answered him. A moment there he felt the star is looking at him in hopes he feels the magical feeling she is feeling now that she is seventeen. The magical feeling she felt and how she is too naive that she fell at first sight on the boy who told him his worries. She fell to the earth of her feelings.

She is seventeen.

Was it really hope? Did she really fell in love with hope? Or was it still the boy on that balcony? She felt the presence of faith and she knew faith was always right. By the time she really fell head over heels on hope, faith brought a friend.
     Trust.
Was she strong enough to trust?
Was she strong enough to have faith in her hopes.
                                   Yet she still has hopes on waking up the next day with faith by her side and trust in her heart.
        So, how does it feels to really felt right?
                         How does it feels to have the feelings at the right places?

She is seventeen.

"Do I really want to stay like this forever?" She asked herself.
               To have no worries and be a child at heart and out. To escape the reality when she really need reality to escape the magical feelings.
Did she really took Peterpan's hand and flew to Neverland and never came back?
                                     Did the sleeping pills worked?
When the clock strikes 6, and the morning came, her mom at her door knocks on thrice.
                                "Jane, wake up." With a voice as soft as the feelings of her comforters that surrounds her body.
                                                           ­             "In a minute."
She took his hand and flew to Neverland but once she saw the mermaids in Mermaid Lagoon, she swam and fell in love with water. She sat on a rock and hold Peter's hand and again she felt those magical feelings again. She kissed Peter's cheek and told him,
                                                            ­   "I need to escape this magical feelings."
And so she woke up on her bed.

She is seventeen.

Forgiving was hard.
           Forgetting was harder.
Yet, those words seems so easy for her now.
                                              The magical feelings that has long gone, made it harder.
She swam through life and sometimes she would choke on the water and stop. But she knows the ocean is big and she never stopped swimming. She met the dolphins and fishes, she even met a few big waves. But she knows there will be a boat right behind her to save her when she's drowning.
        Sometimes she felt it is stupid for her to not sculpt her life before doing anything but she loves the water ever since the Mermaid Lagoon so she continues what she loves. Sometimes she feels someone looking upon her like the boy at the balcony who told her his worries. She felt the pixie dust who tried to help her bit by bit; trying to let her fly and skip the horrendous waves.
                                                          ­Sometimes she used it
                                                              ­      Sometimes she told him no and she swam again.

She is seventeen.

Yet she danced on Jupiter, hopped on the rings of Saturn, fell in love at first sight, went to Neverland, met the mermaids, her first love was someone who never want to grow up, and she swam the oceans. *Was she still a beautiful aurora?

Best poems are lost in the morn's toothbrush
wash away with rinse fade like first crush
run away with the trail of the bus you miss
fly with summer clouds melt like first kiss!

Best poems are lost with the winds' dusty blow
half seen half known through half shut window
burn away like fire on a long winter night
lure with contour eluding full sight!

Best poems are lost in the crescent moon's glow
when your mind is too weary head hits pillow
evanesce like youthful time smoothness of face
undecoded hieroglyph untraced address!

Best poems are lost like petals in the rain
in the race for vain pride rush for self gain
seen through smoked glass pages unread
crumbling with time wasted like ****!

You are just an ordinary girl,
with the red lipstick as your shield,
Breathing in the pleasant wordings,
that society itself spills,
You are nothing but a sham,
Beneath that black mascara,
Locks the origin of your charm,
shows the end of your beautiful era.

Oh False Goddess,
You were once pure,
just an ordinary girl,
so ordinary yet extraordinary,
an idea came before that we should marry,
but look at you now,
I feel so displeased,
a thought came into my mind,
"as long as you are pleased",
Today I  lost a friend,
a woman that i knew,
the relationship is at its end,
but every end begins a new.

Oh False Goddess,
I'm begging you please,
strip away the red and black,
to make me feel at ease,
Don't do this to yourself,
for attention and the fame,
you throw away your dignity,
and burn it down to flames.

Oh False Goddess,
My False Goddess,
You are no longer a Goddess,
nor an ordinary girl,
Just a corpse of false beauty,
that's what you are,
the so called Goddess.

Breathing in that familiar smell of sweet coffee that screams Starbucks i sit quietly inside....alone..but actually, i am accompanied by some cheap elevator music which closely resembles country, and my grande cup of thoughts. This grande cup feels more like a thousand grande cups: a possy almost. This possy fills the empty Starbucks with small talk and the soft murmur that many people usually create. This possy keeps me way more company than any other living breathing flesh.

The thought that sits closest beside me is my mask that i purchased before i could pick out my favorite colored sweater. I wear this mask every day of my life although not always at own will. its hard to admire whats staring back you every morning when your cards dont match the ones on screen. It goes like this, i feel as if i had horse like pony tail hair crawling down my black so silky and taking a skydive at my *** would make it a HELL of a lot easier to wear this mask of mine in which has the title of: MY FACE.
But what is it about the crystal blue eyes that show the rhythm of the ocean or the solidity of the sky? WHAT is it about the deep forest green or the eyes that you can see more than just the sky that is so appealing? HAVENT YOU HEARD??
"THE DARKER THE BERRY THE SWEETER THE JUICE?"

So why does it seem the whiter the paper the more in favor. the blonder the hair the greater the fair, you seem to have in life. MAYBE its the recommendations in which the tv inscribes for us. Maybe its the runway that draws the rules of beauty.
The twiggier the prettier
the fatter the more laughter you receive from people who dont even know
your ****
name.
As I stare at the reflection and into the deep pools of confusion I fish out decent..and different,
but not pretty. I never arrive at the adjective pretty when i look at the reflection staring back at me but
does it ever occur that i do not strive to be merely pretty but something more.
DO NOT and i mean DO NOT EVER
slap a label onto my forehead titled pretty.
dont slap the sticker of cute either.
find another **** sticker
that you can not find at a store, this sticker is so original that it doesn't exist, its so intricate, considered more than an antique
for I AM MORE THAN A MISSION TO ARRIVE TO PRETTY.

Do not look into my cage where I sing and call me beautiful- for its funny how that so called gift seems to be nothing but a mere sample at a beauty supply. Im not a biscuit for you cant butter me up and salt me down for ill never be your favorite dish you can take a bite out of for comfort. I am more than just a piece of meat for I am more than just an adjective for you will not be able to pick up a dictionary and collect the word that fits me best.

I am more, WE are more, we cant be thrown into a binder full of women---no, for no binder is large enough to hold the complexity of just
one. woman.

Listen to the sound, and loose it, its sweet music, and dance with me, for there is beauty in the world so much beauty in the world. But we put a parental block on it we ignore that ad
we throw away that piece as if they are the unwanted leaves to the strawberry,
or the peel to the banana---we drive by that ordinary girl.

We sadly fail to realize-fail to notice the blue skies, notice the butterflies, but you will NOT fail to notice me.
Now, Starbucks is full-full of other rocky mountain climbs and terrible tumbles. It has become a pool of not only coffee...but pools and pools and rivers and seas,
of insecurities.

you want me to write poetry that doesn't twist a heart
to write poems of love and the beauty that exists within it
you want me to write like I used to and explore the depth of love I feel
to write poems about how beautiful it is to fall in love and to lose oneself
you want me to write and write and never stop writing because it is my savior
to write the poems you so love to read and the ones that made you feel so special
you want me to keep smiling and loving and being happy
to write poems of my joy and happiness and the life that makes me feel so alive
you want me to be a person I no longer feel I can be and who is sad more than happy
to write poems that are joyful and graced and not laced with deceit and rejection
you want me to not feel sorry for the awful guilt I bestow on you for not feeling this way
to write poems of only the amazing bliss that true love graces us with
you want me to be me and yet being me means I love you and to love you is pain
to write poems which don't contain the pain my heart feels and will never heal
you want me to carry on regardless not holding back moving forward loved
to write poems of a new love of one I may have met or may not have met
you want me to let go when all I do is cry
to write poems that are cathartic
you want me to not hurt
but can you not see
all this does
is hurt me

and what hurts me more is that you want me to write poems
that don't contain hurt and pain because
love is beautiful
and I agree
it truly is

but this is pain
and it hurts me more
knowing you don't
ever
want me to hurt
not ever.

I am simply
stuck
         in
             love
with you.


© Sia Jane

A man wrote words
To describe that he is very ******
A man wrote words
To describe the women he is in love with
A man wrote words
Describing the wonders of the world
A man wrote words
About his heart broken by a girl
The man wrote about beauty
The man wrote about pain
He shouts out to the world
Hoping for someone who feels the same

You know, there are so many definitions of the word love out there. You’re mine, I’m theirs, stuff like that is pretty common. I don’t consider that the love I feel right now. Considering you know, I don’t exactly have someone that I can call “mine”. Even if I was technically in a relationship, I don’t think I’d ever use that term. I don’t think love should be this possessive thing. The way that I feel when I’m in love is sort of an off the ground, light and airy sensation. I don’t want someone to be keeping my feet on the Earth telling me that I’m “theirs” when I want to be in the air. I want the person I love to take my hand and just fly with me so we can both be free and airy together. Hell, I’m not even that worried if that person is going to actually hold my hand or not or be with me that way in general. Just being around them is enough to get me floating. The love I feel isn’t one of those you see in a romance book. I’m not getting swept off of my feet by a perfect prince charming. In fact, there really isn’t anything romantic about this at all. It isn’t a sudden spark of chemistry that got me to feel this way, its years of friendship and little things done for each other. And maybe because he is so NOT a prince charming, that I savor those little moments of kindness I get from him. No, he’s not totally rude and mean but he is one of those guys that you couldn’t get to tell you how he felt if you shanked him. Some of my favorite memories include him. Like when we got drunk off of whiskey in his basement at his sister’s party and he danced with me. He’s such a bad dancer… Then we crashed on chairs and sofas around two in the morning and it was the first time I slept over his house and I just felt so happy. But my favorite time of all was when he asked me out of the blue if I wanted to go to a concert with him to see a local band. Not only was the band incredible, but that whole night was. He was flirting with me the entire time and being touchy-feely. I’m pretty sure he even gave me that “I want to kiss you" stare but I didn’t realize that until it was too late. Afterwards he wouldn’t even let me go home, he wanted me to sleep over. We were gonna sleep in the same bed, the other two friends that went got to sleep on the floor. It was me and him. I felt his hand on my thigh, and I then gave in. God it was the greatest feeling to feel loved back. I’m not sure if he really loves me that way. I don’t need him to. I just wanna keep feeling this warm fuzzy feeling for a long time.