I was told to write a love poem,
But I don't know how it would go,
I've never been in love,
I wouldn't know the flow.

I have read about it,
and have seen it portrayed,
It is terrible and gorgeous,
It can make you need a zaid.

One thing I have learned is,
That even when your lost,
Love can warm you up,
It can melt away the frost.

I'm imagining a forest in full bloom.
having perfection in imperfect parts
We stand in front of a huge ballroom,
Where a shooting star crosses hearts,
But out of love we fell, so lonely,
When our age caught up, and ruined ourselves,
We both thought of each other as homely,
We love the young and gorgeous selves,
The time was right when we where young,
When we thought so highly of the other,
Oh, to the hope of a remedy for age we clung,
But we lost our amour, along with our future,
    But although time took away our love,
    We had such sweet memories of.

Hello Beautiful,
What do you see?
Do you see all the beauty in me?
Can you tell,
My life is great?
That there is nobody I can hate?
Goodbye Beautiful,
I saw what you see.
I saw that you can see the beauty in me.

I bet your mouth tastes of stars.

I bet you have supernova sized explosions hidden behind your teeth
and I bet that comets trail through your hand
and leap off the edge of infinity,
careening into nothing.

I bet your skin looks of a galaxy.

I bet it is marred by shattered constellations
and I bet that in between the universes in your eyes
sits an empty thought,
awakening for no one.

I bet your hair is made of braided planetary orbits.

I bet you tie it back with black holes of misinformation
and I bet that it blasts open your mouth like a caldera
a galactic cluster of imaginary time,
shooting off bits of malice and meteorite.


You where born in the heavens,
so allow me to crack open your bones
and let satellites spill upon my palms.

Simon, a drunken man
drowns himself in bottled regret
and wished himself away.

Sadness is just the lies we told,
It is damage upon our forgotten souls,

And it burn forever on their hearts of coal.

She stands on the edge of space

If she jumps, star fire will become beating wings
And she will fly throughout the galaxies
Never stopping, not to eat or sleep
She will be a beacon to star travelers and the lonely ones

She stands on the edge of space

I lit a candle
Watching the flame
Calling my name

I turned on the sink
Watched the flow
Tugging me to and fro

I stepped on the ground
and dragged my foot
through the soot

I felt the wind on my face
It tugging at my hair
Through the peaceful air

A tired girl starts her day with a sigh like the moan of a violin
Her groggy mind is overflown with empty thoughts that have yet to be tamed by sleeping in
Her mornings consist of the same boring routine,
Get up, get dressed, but first make sure you’re clean,
In her sleep drunken state, she stays in the shower until it’s too late,
I guess making it to school on time was not to be her fate.
When she finally stumbles into class, tardy slip on hand
She sinks to an empty desk, unable to stand.
The classroom discussion gets her more and more lost,
Although I suppose missing half of it would have its cost…
She seemed to be quite vacuous at times,
But she held a lot of smarts, just hidden in her mind.
She would scrutinize her work until she had an idyllic idea
But sometimes it was too big of one for her mind to appeal
But even though she tends to assail to her work,
Her perfectionist tendencies don’t let her finish any work,
A tired girl ends her day with a sigh like the moan of a violin
But tomorrow she will just have to stop and try again.

Failure is my own fault,
What else can I say?
I don't do the work,
I try to get away.
I'm a leaf on a tree,
Clinging on to a false,
Hope ridden branch
And falling on impulse.
The wind carries me for a little ways,
catching me as I fall,
But the wind will run out,
And I will lose it all.
I feel as if I've failed myself,
I mean, my grades where never great,
But a parents wrath is never good,
But I guess they'll have to wait..............
                                              ­                And wait...............
                                             ­                                                And wait..................

I once met a girl with fire in her heart,
A fire of warmth and home.

I once met a boy who had ice in his soul,
Ice made of snowmen and joy.

Then they met each other,
And she melted his icy soul.

Her fire was diminished,
From his melted puddle of  joy.

If forever was the word you used,
Why is I feel so abused?
Forever seemed like eternity,
But us minus you is just me, me, me.
Well, whatever now, I guess I lose.
Our relationship was at the end of it's fuse.

Stardust weaves down her hair
      and
         c l i p s
             it’s wings when it’s halfway there.

Hope will spring from unlikely places,
It will look you in the eye with unlikely faces,
Sometimes it show up as a king, maybe aces,
Sometimes it will beat your heart with maces,
Without hope, you have all these empty spaces,
With it, you have so many graces,
It always leaves good little traces,
But it will always spring from unlikely places.

I am a mind driven insane my the people around me,
the ones who keep calling out my name and
asking, begging, pleading for fame.
I am one of the bright ones,
a living creature, driven mad by rain
that still washes at my face with malice and blame.
They keep asking, keep begging, keep pleading me
for their half second of fame.
Even clocks ticking help to maintain
what little of sanity I have kept clung to my name.
I feel it slipping by me, grain after grain, falling away
and stealing my still lips just so they can proclaim
an echo of their self wished and selfish fame.
You bid my time and take hold of my reign,
reeling and rearing, from the second I came
rushing from behind, trying to take back my picked-apart brain.
Trying to take back my frame of fame.

My title has been stolen to you, my fame taken and lost
all that I'm left with is shame and the frost.
So tell me, is this humanity?
Is this what it has come to, snatching my sanity?

I am the Caterpillar,
Waiting for summer to bloom
So I can be free.

I am the Caterpillar,
Closed up in a cocoon,
Wanting to be rid of the past me,

I am the Caterpillar,
So close to to the freedom I long for,
Trying just to be.

I am the Caterpillar,
No longer waiting for summer to bloom
So I can be free.

*I am free.

I feel guilty for the life I have lived.
Because I am happy.
Because I have not struggle, I have not hatred, I have not broken.
Because I feel I do not deserve the privileges that I am allowed, nor do you deserve your shattered image.
How ****** up is that?
That I find guilt in my happiness?
That is because my life would be a treasure for someone else, I feel I did not earn my place, my home?
My life?
I have not been recalled to the factory, with a poison substance or cracks in my frame.
I have not been sent away to be reemerged with a new face and a fake smile.
I have not need to fake mine.
And this guilt
This crushing guilt that  still does not fracture me,
I’ll Feel it in my bones
                                 until
                                           the
                                                    day
                                                       ­        I
                                                           ­         die.

When we first met, I was in hell
and you where my angel from heaven
but now, you've a broken halo,
(it’s crown upon your shattered mind).
You pulled me up as I pulled you down
(we met somewhere in the middle).
We fought side by side
together and against the world,
but then our world fell apart.
(I found you out, you lied)
You fought against me,
you betrayed me,
(you hurt me in ways you’ll never know).
I missed you, I needed you
(I loved you, I still do)
and just when I was accepting your absence
you came back. (but you forgot me)
You always come back.
(why do you always come back?)
We patched things up eventually (do you remember that?)
(not everything can be fixed by your makeshift stitches)
When we first met, I was in hell
and you where my angel from heaven
and now you have fallen.
(you're lost, graceless)
I need to find you,
because I still need you *(I still love you).

Look in the mirror and tell me what you see,
See that you should create another,
How could you not pass on your beauty,
Make someone a joyful mother,
If you don't pass on your traits,
Or don't marry at a steaple,
Without your beauty, that the world awaits,
What would become of our people?
You have the beauty of you mother, and she has yours,
She remembers the time when she was fair,
Before age closed her open doors,
So make quick with it, before you flair.
    But if you remember not to be without child,
    You can live your life, a little wild.

I always talk about leaving,
But I know that I'm going to stay,
I love it just where I am,
I don't want to go away.

It scares me to think of it all,
The world is big and vast,
This sudden wave of difference,
Always leaving me aghast,

But how do I deal with the world,
If nothing near is right?
I will figure it out,
I'll try with all my might.

I carry your laugh with me for miles.
I carry it through space and time itself.
It’s perched on my shoulders,
    comfortable,
    tranquil,
      ­  and seemingly perfect.
It makes me feel alive,
looping around my ears to hang like antique earrings
and following me everywhere I go.
Your laughter reminds me of a child
who has just gone to Disneyland
and cannot fathom all the joy and wonder surrounding him.

I carry your laugh with me for miles.
I carry it through space and time itself.
It’s balanced on my head,
                                                           ­                             leisurely,
                         ­                                                  calming,      
                                     and undeniably faultless.

A pen is blue, black, red, green
It is your life written out
And unwritten
Words that you would
never say.
Things that you will
never do.
A pen is full of good things
and bad things
All compressed in ink
A pen is full of unfinished thoughts
and unwritten stories.
This pen will write my story.

Our hushed conversations
became overheard by the stars
and got woven into our galaxy.
The words that passed between our lips
ate away at the milky way.
Metaphors were meteors
and their pinched tails left trails
of stardust
echoed in our skin.
The inky black between transformed into wings
stretched across our universe,

and millions of black swallowtail butterflies took flight.

People, people all around
Not a single one makes a sound.
People, people gather here
So you may be not far, but near.
People, people listen up
We’ve got everything and a cup.
People, people do not fear
For now, even they are here.

There is an apple tree,
Standing 25 feet tall,
Its red apples are rotten,
I watch them as they fall.

The flesh turns a mushy brown,
The smell is sickly sweet,
The bugs love these apples,
I watch them as they eat.

This old tree is half dead,
The bark crumbles to dust,
It's stuck with broken nails,
I watch them as they rust.

There was an apple tree,
With a sad story to tell,
But it can't now, it's gone,
I watched it as it fell.

There is something I want to get off my chest,
Something that has shocked me to the bone,
If I tell, I'll go into cardiac arrest,
Sometimes I feel so alone.

I wish I could tell it here, but no, too public a place
If only I knew what to do,
Someone whose words are filled with such grace,
I wish I could tell someone like you.

It's a secret that I'm not supost to know,
Something that I only just found out,
I wish I knew which way to go,
when the roads are all rushing about.

The sound of silence can drive me insane?
Make my brain
forget my name?
The sound of nothing can make me mad
wish I had?
forgetting the sad
The sound of dark can make me despise
all the cries
the wounderings why?

I**             feel as if I could Fly!
Am        I the only one?
Not        to brag, but I feel so glad!
Strong   is my middle name.

Rulers are being double-crossed,
Faith in the system has been more than lost.
One class falls, another will rise,
Some of us will meet our demise.
We take the stage, we take a stand,
We have a revolution on our hands.

Everyone has a skeleton in their closet,
Something that no one should know,
Each bone is different,
But none of them are for show.

Sometimes they come alive,
And creep into your mind,
You want to run away,
For none of them are kind.

Some bones are broken,
They can never be replaced,
Others turn to dust,
And are forever misplaced.

My brain is dead and I am a burnt rubber tire,
I could say I slept, but I would be a lier, lier,
It doesn't make a difference, I am already on fire.

My heart beats a tango, a ballet, a samba,
It plays a tune, it daces to a mamba, mamba,
Someone please let me be, let me feel the rhumba.

I want to sleep forever and ever,
But it feels like forever will be never, never
And I've run out of rhymes, I lost my clever.

Why do words flow so smoothly on paper and ink,
But as soon as I open my mouth they fall flat and empty?

Why is it that I can think of a million things to say,
But as soon as I see you the words are misused?

I wish these word weren't so useless outside of my mind!
I wish these word were so much more kind!

Why do they never flow in the right way,
Getting jumble up in a word filter and coming out the wrong?

Why is it that even as I write this they aren't quite right,
Always falling short on emotion and long on time.

They always seem so right, so perfect in my head!
But when they come out, well, I'd rather feel dead!

It’s still in here.

The silence is deafening,
I see movement in the corner of my eyes.
However,
I turn to look and see nothing but emptiness,
Mocking my senses.
I want to leave.
But the thought of it alone,
Instills in me a fear,
That would freeze armies.

I will slay the beast.

They are a stranger.

Their hair falls in waves
Crashing against the shore
Of their forehead.

Their eyes smolder,
With a heat that keeps
Warmth seeping into your soul.

Their skin is canvas,
Painted with rusty dots
Highlighted by dusty skylights.

Their lips are a crescent moon,
Curving upwards
in a soft smile.

They are an essence
of beauty and
imperfection personified.

They are a stranger.

How does technology make the world a better place?
I’ll tell you, if you can keep up pace.
At first we were awed by a simple light,
Then a space shuttle taking off into the night.
We work and work, night and day,
Looking, looking for another way.
We look at places from across the world,
With a peek into a book, filled with words.
Some people think “ What shall I make today?”
While others say “ Should I stand here or lay?

Evil seeps through his bones,
The fire in his eyes always roams,
Wanting what evil can never have

Is the angel with a broken wing.

Evil is the gist of it
Even without his cunning wit
Pleading for the terrible thing

Is an angel with a broken wing.

Burning heat soaks his breath
Now or never for what is left
Where two worlds almost collide

Is the angel with a broken wing.

Water. That was the first thing the man thought upon waking. Water. Clean, fresh, pure water. Water that could quench the seemingly endless thirst, water that could quell the temptation of  taking a sip of the black stream that slithered past him, as poisonous as a deadly viper, coiled and ready to strike.
           It was torture, this barren, roofless cave; the dry air abuse on the mans parched, cracking lips and sandy throat. The sun beat down from a cloudless sky, burning his already blistering brown skin to a crisp. He had been here two days, trapped under the relentless heat.  The man feared he would not survive another. He prayed that people where looking for him, that he was not deserted in this desert. Never had he felt so alone or afraid. Afraid of not being found, afraid of the snake stream, afraid of the swirling skies and the winds that whispered promises of death. He missed cold; he missed rain and sound and car alarms and most of all water. Clean, fresh, pure water. Water that could quench the seemingly endless thirst.
        The venomous water-serpent curled around his lips, and slithered in.

There is a teddy bear that still guards my bed,
but never gets any love,
It sit upon a lonely shelf,
Watching from above.

A multicolor box of crayons,
Sits on my bedroom floor,
It's leftover from my childhood,
That is sadly nevermore.

But the memories are still sweet,
In bitter sort of way,
And even if some are sad,
It was a happy day.