I place myself in the center of room
as you panic to pack up your stuff,
being careful that nothing is left behind.
There are flowers growing in the corners of the room
that ask you to stay.
There are green skies
that we painted.
There are flaws your and mine
that decorate this wall.
There are TV channels
that we can surf through,
there are days to be wasted.
And I want to waste them with you.

I want you to stay.
I almost blurt it out.
But had it not been for these flowers and skies
and days written in color of your name,
I could have left
to find the dreams I never had.
There is a chandelier
of blood red glass
of your sighs and goodbyes.
I know you are not running away from me
but from our devils,
from our destruction,
that lay between us
every night.
I lay back one summer’s afternoon,
and gazed up at the sky,
in a sunny meadow all flower strewn,
and watched the clouds go by.

I pondered life and other things,
a chance to contemplate,
growing old and all it brings,
and one’s impending fate.

What better way to clear your mind,
and keep your woes at bay,
and ponder on the things you find,
and while away the day.
I can't stand the rules
made in these four walls
that prevent me from doing
what has to be done.

I'd rather run away
to my real home,
where I can do what I love
and not get yelled at.

My home understands me,
my problems, privileges, and pains.
It supports all I've got,
my struggles, strengths, and strains.

It's just not fit for me,
being strapped to orders.
Sometimes it can be scary
and I wish I could run away.
My life is divided into different rooms
as is my heart.
For as long as I remember,
from the time I used to care for decorations
to the time I am too lazy to clean up.
From the moments of sweet solitude by the window
to the clinking glasses and winking eyes.
The room belonged more to them
than to me.

And I often found it unsettling,
as if on a night
when I would be hiding under covers
not knowing what to fear,
someone would knock at the door
and with that knock, would come a pair of shoes
and a set of clothes, holding a person
whose face, motive or aim
would soon be inconsequential.

And slowly she would drag me
out of each room,
snatching away each memory that she touched,
knocking down my bookcases filled with my escape,
tearing away the wallpapers
behind which I hid my unvoiced cries.
The doors would be shut on my face,
leaving me out in a storm on a moonless night,
leaving me alone to face all that I didn’t know of
taking away all that I know.
thank you for leaving.
i dont have to think how to
away from you.
people comes and go right?
What is this game we play?
I love you so much but I fucking hate you too.
I love you looking at me but the whole time your watching to see the wrong that I do.
You make my pussy wet and tinging but then you tell me you can't make love to me, all because of your wedding ring.
You tell me to talk to whom ever I want but then you tell me I have been caught.
So now what am I supposed to do,  I can't keep on loving you.
So I turn to walk away but you yell out, please stay ,  don't walk away, I pray.
I stay and continue to play.
I'm new at this. But I've always loved to write. If it's correct or not.
A picture drawn,
etched into sketchbooks,
A secret embedded into paper,
A time faded away into the past,
When one would draw,
Into a  notebook,
In the classroom.

Nylee Mar 14
The crossroads bring many paths together
each one drifting farther
We can surely meet later
but the journey surely will differ
Next page