We are critical.

We find flaws in
everything we see
because nobody
wants to write
about perfection,
even though sometimes
we wish we could just stay
staring into that
unblemished surface.

2. We are never satisfied.

We live our lives upon
mountains of
scrunched up
bits of refill and
ideas we gave up
trying to
express.

3. We never forget.

We write words about
eye contact made
three months ago
that we replay over
and over in our minds
even though it
stopped
being relevant.

4. We are fickle.**

Our emotions flash
from one
to the other
like strobe lighting that
disorientates us
until we feel as if
the world
will never be still.

5. We are exposed.

We don't know how
to keep our feelings
to ourselves so
we'll write them
down for
you to find
'accidentally'.

6. We are vulnerable.

We wear our
hearts on our sleeves
and won't lift a
muscle to fight back
if somebody tries
to break it
because we thrive
from the pain.

7. We will never stop.

We will never stop
feeling and
we will never stop
hurting,
we will never stop
breaking and
bleeding and
loving
even though the cycle
is endless
and we know what's
coming next.


We are addicted
to agony,
but we agonise
for the art.

Would it be poetetic to take this blade across my wrist
The silver kissing at my arteries

Would it be romantic
To die because of love
Possessive hands choking me.

Would it be beautiful
To breath my last breath
Leaving behind all those who care.

Or would it be tragic to abondon this world before my time.
Mother and father crying over me.

I'm not a typical teenager
I don't facebook things
Or post my life to the world
I don't tweet
Or Twitter
Or all the other
Networks
I don't instagram
In fact
I don't like pictures
If me. I hide from the camera
Hoping no one will
Click the photo button
I don't party
Or stay out late
I sit at home
Watching TV
Or better yet
Cuddling up with a good book
I don't waltz around
In revealing clothes
Hoping for a boyfriend
I don't act all bubbly
I cry and worry
I don't worry about boys
And dates
I worry about depression
And cutting and if my
Friends are really fine

I don't doodle or draw names on a binder
I write poetry on a site called helo poetry
And the only thing that upsets me
About that, is that I didn't find it sooner

This flower
In the dark
Of night,
With petals
Of carnal delight,
Like Venus, snaps
To hold one tight;
Repeats
The feast
In morning light.

Oooooh, OH ! Now my clear moon rising

Oh , Oh ! Your leaving , . . . not surprising

Just dancing around your grave
Hey ! Just dancing on your grave
Hey , Hey ,dancin' around your grave


Sooo, oh ! Oh ! You say you got it made

yup , yup ,  you surely got it made


Hey ! just say it , dancing on your grave
Just roll , roll , . . . roll up your sleeves
And dig your self a grave


Yeah , yeah , fix your self a grave

Just dig yourself a grave

. . . dancing on your grave , Hey ! Hey !

. . . dancing on your grave !

I want to be one of the two girls at the onerepublic concert
Holding hands as Christina Perry sings

~

I can hear the birds singing,
but I can’t see them
Calling for the sun to rise
from dark branches scraping the sky
Full of life they sound
perched high above the speckled lawn
Clinging to sticks, crooked and bare,
formed of countless years trying
and mistletoe nightmares

Melodies bridge the breeze,
lonely corn fields of narrow rows
and a garden of sleeping blooms...
life waiting to be reborn
to paint the landscape with color
Bringing happiness to the birds
singing anyway on the cusp of new,
the edge of beauty near
as northern horizons wake

Grey skies still cling the heavens
I listen, quietly to this music
as if their harmonies will lift
the loneliness from my heart
Chambered worries of what will come,
pulsating rivers in free flowing vistas
counting minutes until spring arrives
and I whisper a sad good bye
but I will return…I will return