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why is it so ******* hard to get over you?
I went on my friends facebook account
just for ***** and giggles
because she was on mine
and i found myself on your profile
with tears filling my eyes
because you are perfectly fine
without me
And here i am
barely holding myself together
I won't dare say you're happy
I know you are not
but you're a lot better off
than me.
I have this queer little problem
Where my insides and outsides can't agree
You like me and I want to hold your hand
Yet I move my hand away from you so you don't think I'm trying anything
I know you need a self confidence boost
I want to tell you how cute you are sometimes
But I'll keep quiet or say something sarcastic
That beats down on you even more
I want to flirt back with you cuz I like you
But I'll shrug you off
Roll my eyes
Scoff
Because my inside-to-outside is broken
And I think
Just maybe
Dear
To fix it I'll need your love.
So know this next time I hurt you
When I distance myself
I just want you to hold me.
When I say something rude
I can't handle how perfect you are right now.
When I shrug you off
I just wanted to flirt back with you
I know I'm a mess of emotion
Like a leftover bag full of scraps
But the one thing dear
Though I don't show it
I love you.
To have you know it
Its all I try to do.
 Jan 2014 night child
j
your scent lingers, in the way that the moon never rushes to go down in the winter
in the way that it is a beautiful blend of moonlight, lavender, and whiskey
the moon is always beautiful and nobody complains of her presence
the same is said for you

your legs tangle with mine, and it's hard to write this without feeling drowsy
nostalgic for your touch, and your head in the crook of my neck
your hair is always so soft, and so are your lips and I don't know how
but I like the way they tickle my chin

I can feel your fingers, skimming through my hair, hard to the touch
but with softer intentions they do bear, I could say the same for your heart
cold on the outside, a mix of steel and ice, but on the inside is a battle
of brimstone and fire

I think I'm beginning to understand, your smile when you are asleep,
and the reason behind your favourite books and works of art
I think I'm beginning to understand, why love is a term not to be used lightly
and especially not around you
 Jan 2014 night child
Chris
I don't sleep much anymore.
It's the same as when we first met,
even though it's not the same.
I used to think "alone" was an adjective,
now I know it's just the state
of not fitting anywhere.
I don't fit anywhere.
There's nowhere to call home.
I hate being awake,
it just reminds me you're not here.
I hate being asleep,
it just reminds me that I'll wake up.
I don't write much anymore.
I have nothing left.
Words can't describe the 
pounding in my head,
or the emptiness in my bones.
So when you ask, "What's wrong?",
I don't have much to say besides,
"I don't sleep much anymore."
 Jan 2014 night child
Mikaila
Rise
 Jan 2014 night child
Mikaila
I've never been one for burning books
But this is life
And these words char the paper they're printed on
And I think you need to burn your fingers to realize
You better turn the page.
Life is short.
Strike a spark inside your chest
And let it go off like a firecracker.
You might be arson in the morning, honey,
But you'll never be ashes.
Life is short.
Sometimes you've got to torch the house to find the foundation,
And sometimes the world's gotta burn you down to your backbone
For you to realize you've got one.
Dear last meaningful kiss,

It's hard to start this,
because long ago I was in such a bliss,
I dont know what to write,
but this cigarette in my sight,
is counting down the end of our night
The guitar is playing its final thoughts
and I reflect on the what to do and not's,
as I start to write the script again.
People stare at me as I write this aloud,
for I want everyone to know, I am not proud,
that this even exists,
but it does.

Your face is what haunts me the most.
When I stare at the coast,
fantasies of memories arise,
but vanish as I feel the falseness of lies,
creep upon me,
like a villain in a play,
but these thoughts I must put away.
They won't get me anywhere.

Except a lonely stare,
into peoples hearts that I seem to try and confide,
but in this rule book I'm writing I must abide,
and leave your side.

I dont think you get what this hurts like,
to ride a bike,
into nothingness of blank words,
that I reflect upon in past writing.
But back to the script I keep fighting,
there is no shading or lighting,
just another poem that I follow.



Dear the love that was never true,

I wonder if your writing too,
or if you even know you,
cause you like to dance around this heartbreak,
like an old soul tries to avoid youth, just for the sake,
sake of wondering what to do next.

As I write this script on my invisible paper,
I have to remember too add the hooded caper,
that's nestled in the shadows, that I frankly never see,
and add reluctantly.
I will look back and think that part wasnt necessary,
but my heart and eyes are wary,
of knowing when to put down my pen.

This will be a sad thing to write,
because night,
is sadly ending,
with the stars starting to fade,
I must abide,
with the fears that reside,
that I must tap onto this screen,
and make sure in this last hurrah, you dont seem mean.




Dear the one who use to be the spark in my nod,

I hear many applaud,
but I wont let myself smile, for this love story shouldn't have ended,
or maybe it hasnt just yet, and just has bended.
Mind is amended,
the wrong doings of past fames,
I can remember the actors I write, but not their names.
As I put my script into print,
and watch the masses on their screen,

"I must say I hate the ending myself,
but it started with an alright scene."


From the heartbroken kid,
with love.
So I wrote this when I was a wee teenager going through heartache...I always really liked tthe title and some of the lines *straightens tie* are most badass....If I ever do a compilation book, I'd split it up into sections, and my heartbreak/ache poems would be called...you guessed it, "the heartbreak letters"...I hope you enjoyed it :]
 Jan 2014 night child
geminicat
I sit at my window for months, watching the seasons go by.
I look at the dandelions grow in the spring,
and the kids from the block running through the sprinklers, smiling, during summer.
I watch the leaves turn colors on the trees, then the glide slowly onto the ground,
and in the winter, I like to watch the snow fall cheerfully onto the bushes, and see glistening lights on roofs.
I sit at my window for months, hoping that one day, the seasons wont change.
 Jan 2014 night child
drumhound
Poetry
stands us on the overlook of the forest
and makes us see the ladybug
in the shade
of an indistinguishable tree.  

Poetry
takes time for the janitor
no one has ever spoken to.  

Poetry
gives voice to the frightened child
and the bird who forgot how to sing.  

Poetry
smells like the garbage in the apartment
of a 5-day drunk
letting us wonder
whether it is his heart or his mind that is broken.  

Poetry
turns a pacifist into a powerhouse.  

Poetry
wraps words into presents
becoming gifts of love
and breaths of life
in our common humanity.  

Poetry
makes us sticky on the floor of a movie house
or bad caramel apple decisions,
and unfortunate one-night rendezvous.  

Poetry
puts portals at impenetrable walls.  

Poetry
brings salvation to the Atheist,
hell to the saint,
equality to both.  

Poetry
makes room for love
regardless how redundant
or naive.  

Poetry
bleeds on our behalf
that we might die a thousand deaths
and live to die again.  

Poetry
makes the forgotten glaring,
the trivial a celebrity,
and illuminates the streets as a marquee
for what had once been insignificant.  

Poetry is a spotlight.
Everything is a star.
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