Everything in her life has done naught but made her harder.
She was born, full of hope and this burning need to make others see in her what was there.
And in the seeing, her father faltered and was lost,
Disappearing from what he had once been to her in his wavering.
She learned frugality with her trust.
When she was older she loved, an instantaneous, fierce sort of love that defied her scars.
First though came the burning sun she served, searing her from the inside as she drove on,
Her purpose thrumming beneath her skin,
But still she knew she would return and love again.
When she did, all was not as she had left it.
What she’d chosen, what she believed, had burst between them like the shrapnel of a grenade,
It tore into what had existed between her and her love,
Tore her from her home and family,
And left her turned to stone, her heart cool and untouchable.
With my words I weave a scene,
A flawless world that seems pristine.
Verdant trees and babbling brooks,
Lands from ancient story books.
It is in these worlds that I long to be,
Basking in blissful serenity.
Walls of paper blockade my way,
The ink-stained partitions seem to stay.
I wield my pen, my trusty blade,
As I carve a legacy page by page.
These places that I often scribe,
Evade me quite; I cannot lie.
Yet perhaps for a moment I may just pretend,
And weave my scenes until the end.
You can can create whimsical scenes with just ink and paper, but isn't it just a scrawl of black and white?
my whole heart was not enough
for when he spoke to me
it wasn't a language that I could comprehend
he spoke to me like he spoke to a wall
a ghost, a doll, something that was not real
that was not alive
if he loved me then I would understand
any language, any dialect, any tone
because words of love can and will
bypass any barrier
Confined within for seventeen never-ending years
Greeted every morning by its hollow disgusting sneer
Cutting fingers trying to peel off the layers of this theater
Getting stabbed and kicked in the head again, death is near
Another day, lost in the space
Feeling more and more alien
Piercing the days like a warrior
Have my head cut off a thousand times
Another day, losing my own face
Smells more and more my carrion
Peering through this barrier
Have my body buried a thousand miles down the earth
Existence does not mean belongingness
Dedicated to Per "Dead" Ohlin