Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 Mar 2014 Noah Roberts
Maggie
...

free
alive
energetic
and imaginative

thats what I remember from my childhood

running
playing
hiding
playing duck, duck, goose under a starry night
those were the days i wish i could go back to

riding my bicycle through puddles of mud after the rain had stopped

the feel of fresh cut grass in between my toes

laying down in the meadow in my backyard
letting the sun shower me with warmth,
gazing into the clear blue sky where clouds formed marvelous shapes
while inhaling the most cleanest, freshest air

those where the days when i was so carefree

taking adventures in the forest
collecting glittery rocks because i thought it had fairy dust

oh, how i believed in fairies

id sit at the edge of the river making small tables and chairs made of grass, bark, and moss
decorating it with flowers that i gathered from my mothers garden
using walnut shells as the vase
listening very closely for the sound of tiny bell chimes nearby
paying very close attention to my surroundings in case id run into one

this was my Neverland

i remember how happy i was
how life was so fascinating
how i was one with nature and its mysteries

how i believed

now

i don't know what is wrong from right
what is good from bad
now
i live in a world of evil thoughts and misguided people
in a world where others control how i feel

in a world filled with lies

that is why i choose to never grow up
to never let myself forget how i believed in the most impossible things


and that is how i learned

to fly

...
 Mar 2014 Noah Roberts
rj
Twenty-One
 Mar 2014 Noah Roberts
rj
One cut feel some pain
Two cuts to hit a vein
Three cuts you're feeling okay
Four cuts for the ****** day
Five cuts your blood flows like a river
Six cuts you shake and quiver
Seven cuts 'what's one more'?
Eight cuts there's a puddle on the floor
Nine cuts you've got a huge ****
Ten cuts you think it's just another cut
Eleven cuts when you get you're relief
Twelve cuts this one extra deep
Thirteen cuts you think you should be done
Fourteen cuts you will make another one
Fifteen cuts for being a failure
Sixteen cuts you still go deeper
Seventeen cuts you can't feel
Eighteen cuts the blood doesn't seem real
Nineteen cuts tears fall as your body does too
Twenty cuts your lips start to turn blue
Twenty-one cuts your mission is finally complete
You're laying in blood as you fall asleep.
The blood seeps over my fingertips
And I see my complexion from clear glass in front of me
Beautiful still, but pallid and stunned as crimson drips to my elbows:
Love, Love, verily, I’ve killed Love.
"Not again!" a voice howls
It sounds from outside but tingles my vocal chords
And Reason and Logic and Pragmatism join hands and encircle me
Each sporting brilliant new medals on their *******.
"Begone!" I cry, and they coldly smirk and slowly fade away—
God, what a God— why so wretched and cruel to give me this fate?
But God hath given free will
The true shame is I am the one who penned this destiny—
And I see other hearts scatter the floor
Still beating weakly
—Pathetically—
their veins drain from some vicious creature’s attack:
Some evidently wicked hands hath ripped these hearts
fresh from hopeful chests;
I see the red dry under my nails.
But, Ah! Love is miraculous!
Is Love to come and work deep magic and revive these hearts?
Are these hearts to be restored — nay — even one?
…Or am I to sit alone, some proud and regal queen,
Upon a rising mass of battlefield’s aftermath?
Pen
Please, I've forgotten
how to hold a pen, she said.
Those were the words that
convinced me to write a letter
from a stranger to a stranger.
So this is a message to you
from her.

She's asking how you're doing.
She wonders if the stars are brighter where you are.
You know,
there's a meteor shower coming
in a few weeks' time, she's
she's asking if you knew, and if
you'd watch it with her at eleven in the evening the Saturday after the next
so she'd feel like you were right there beside her
pointing out which streak held the most brilliant color
and if you're asking,
she's doing fine.

She's wondering if you know
how silkworms spin silk,
because a friend asked her the other day
she didn't know how to reply except by telling herself
that you would've known, so
how do they spin silk?
Let me know as soon as possible, she says
my friend wants to know.
But I think she's asking that as an excuse to hear your voice
but also because she really wants to know
how silkworms spin silk
and if you think jade is the nicest kind of green
or if you prefer hiking or swimming
if you agree that innocence is just untested character
and if you're asking,
she's longing for answers.

She's hoping you don't think of her,
and she's hoping you do.
She wants me to tell you that
she wants you to remember
but she wants you to forget the pain,
so might as well forget everything
because hurt is the price of loving someone.
She confesses that she's tried to stop
writing about you
but every time she sits down to
write her soul into words
your memory slips in and dances off her pages
and she tries to stop it
and if you're asking,
she's trying to find ways to make thinking about you easier.

According to her,
she's quieter now
not just her mouth but her feet,
her hair
her eyes
her spirit
Look at what you've done, she says.
I

I've always been a terrible liar.
Please, I've forgotten
how to hold a pen.

— The End —