I just want
to see how
beautiful
you truly are,
far from what
you see you
see in the
mirror,
for now,
look away
from the
world,
our fingers
gently trace,
softly, the sun
paints light
upon your
golden skin,
hold me closer,
your sweater
Is softer than
cashmere,
and palms
caress
as the sun
rises from
the sea, and
all turns to
watercolor,
these eyes
are special
to me, as
they hold
the secrets
of your heart
I will hold
as it whispers,
"for you,
I am a soul
deeply
in love,
wishing
upon a star
among
thousands,
waiting for
your arms
to open my
petals,
I know what
those shining
eyes are hiding,
they are closely
holding a love
greater than
time, I have been
waiting for you,
I want you to know,
you are the
beautiful one
who will be the
sunshine to my
rain, the warmth
I seek to reside
In forever, and
the breathe
of the rose
I wish to
become".

Love....
wanting it so bad yet end up feeling confused and alone
Lost in the words that were never said in the frigid air of dishonesty
A distorted illusion once made to enrapture has now left you in a maze of sorrow and ambivalence

I like your stupid tattoo
and your ****** piercing
that you got with the boys
in Magaluf
the way you can't spin decks
but you keep trying anyway
your stupid, beautiful laugh

your stories
like the time you stressed out in Ibiza
or blacked out for hours at
the same gig I did
before we'd even met

I'm freaking
I'm 3AM not sleeping
I've never liked someone
that cared about me
I've never met anyone who suits me like you do

I'm desperate to run
you're gripping me by the forearm
as soon as you let go I'm gone
terrified, rabbit in headlights
I want to not be afraid
the lessons I've learnt still haunt me

How can I cast them aside
wash the slate clean
I want to believe that you want me
How can I? Help me, darling
teach me
how can I?

When people read my poetry
they all have the same question
"Why does your poetry have to be so sad?"
The question used to offend me
I used to think that question deserved an answer
I even started changing the kind of poems I wrote to please the people who read them
I was satisfied with my work
but it wasn't really me
I began to feel guilty
I began to feel like a fraud
Charles Bukowski once wrote
"a good writer must simply let it all go, regardless"
I'm sure he meant for those words to mean something else but for me
it was as if I was being reminded to stop allowing other people to have control over my writing
It's not every day I gain advice from someone who has passed on years before I was ever born
I no longer feel the need to answer everybody's question
Hell I even ask myself from time to time
"Mandie, why must your poetry be so sad?"
Depression is another language to me
I speak it well
I write it well
I know it well
Bottom line
if my poetry is too sad for you
then don't read it