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Rachel Mary Oct 2013
i kissed you in the sunlight
you held me in the rain
i talked to you at midnight
you said i was to blame
i hurt you in september
you cried and were in pain
i think you're getting better
you  should forget my name
Rachel Mary Oct 2013
i looked through my old poetry
and words began to sink
into my mind , the wall id built;
had obstructed what i think
it took me back to the place i was
some 3 or 4 months back
and now i wonder to myself
my way with words is black
Rachel Mary Oct 2013
i am the reverb
i am the plague
im the bad word ;
the misbehave
i am lust
and I am mud
and I am greed
and I am thud
i am the pain
and the knife
im not the mother;
im not the wife
i am the greed of the hungry
the need of distrust
god, you indulge me
resisting the lust
you are tall
And you are kind
but to me yet , you're not inclined
but I persevere , i carry on
like the verse into a song
what I want ,is your attention
what you give is not enough
i want you now., i want you gentle
i want you now, i want your lust
Rachel Mary Oct 2013
I found myself once again
In amidst the autumn leaves
The crunching and the early starts
The scars on muddy knees

The daylight lasted longer
In the sleeping summer sun
But September bought me hunger;
Fatigue , hunger and fun.

New starts are just perceptions
Of things you had before
Looked at in a new way
Something less ( or more)
Rachel Mary Aug 2013
oh holden,
you  despise the  phony things
oh holden,
your demise is challenging
oh holden,
you appear selfish, but you know you're not
oh holden,
you prevent others from the rot
oh holden,
the bitter rot you know too well
oh holden,
the rot you always felt
oh holden,
how i hope you're fine
oh holden,
the catcher in the rye
Rachel Mary Aug 2013
oh how the strings of the willow leaves
dangle , delicately from the strong and majestic branches
oh,how the beauty of willow trees
is soaked up in the array of quick glances
the glances, made by a stranger
when perhaps keeping children from danger
or perhaps in a dream, when sleeping
why is the willow still weeping?
Rachel Mary Jul 2013
The ugly building
Supposed to milden the devastating perils of the destruction of the body of a loved one ; or unloved one.
Or perhaps, it is not a destruction . Perhaps it is merely the transition from body to dust ( from dust , to nothing).
For how are we to proceed? Knowingly pacing the wooden floors that the person you once called ' dad' is perished , gone only to the foreign lands , far away to the sky .
Amidst the trees , that is where their eyes will once again meet , and that is far to future , and far to the past. It is only how we perceive such death that affects us. Negatively . Positively . It is a deduction from the world , a gain to the stars. Death is not a pity. Death is a rebirth.
Sorry this is not a poem but I needed to get it out
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