What shadow am I,
Lurking on this page,
This blocked out feeling,
I need to go away.

I don't read,
I don't write,
Cut at my roots,
Neither ink or water comes through.

I never used to need to plan or plot before I wrote-

imagination shriv’ling on the vine around my throat.

The words come out more slowly now, viscous as with blood-

I have to **** and ***** and wait and pray for one more flood.

I opened that notebook again,
After ages I picked my pen.
Pressed strength on my wrist,
Gave my hand a gentle twist.

Scribbling through, I went on
In the world where ink lace spun.
But it was different from what I knew,
This ink was of a different hue.

And I flipped the pages back
A glimpse of me in the ink stained rack
The letters were bolder, deeper even
They held power higher than I now sustain.

And so I closed my notebook again,
It's ink wasn't in my own pen.
And I closed the lid once more
Let it sit where it was, before.

You made me feel
A world of hope
Life seemed brighter
When you gave me
Butterflies.

I gathered my courage
just to seem
like some "Sweet Girl"
To you
After all
Our conversations meant nothing
You blocked me. No Reason!
Just to avoid the awkwardness
Building up my hope
Just to disappear without a trace
Now all tears fall down the face
As I'm deeply confused of what I did
To make you block out my existence.

I understand rejection
It's so normal
yet so painful
I'm not mad you rejected me
But why did you blocked me?

I don't get it
I'm exactly your type too!
Abyssal black hair
A face as pale as paper
But I guess Something about me
Must've pushed you away
Weather it's because
I'm in Marching Band
Or that I religiously listen to Slipknot
Or both
I don't get what's wrong with me.
But why should I care
maybe because you left me confused
Yet I'm so sick that I refuse
To stop wondering
Why you blocked me out
When all I said was
"Sorry for making this awkward".

I've never got rejected
So this really
Hurts
But I will get over it
soon.

Folding thoughts like origami
fortress of the hectic army
a sea of fans cheering wildly
and nothing certain waning mildly.

A pile of notes and bloated files of writings,
the little terrors these forgotten worlds invite in.
A choir of friendly voices turning choices into stressful hourly junctions degrading your peace and eroding your mental function.

I write in lines the complex as the simple but between them find a blurred reflection, a swirling mirror in which I seek answers but find only an ever increasing number of questions.

A poem a day keeps the doctor away.
Get flowing and pay tribute in text
don't get vexed that you're now in a challenging place
just relax and give it your best.

The turbulent scene is a flurry of fiends
but you're fine if you write the lines
you'll be safe from the clutter and strife of things
as long as you put in the time.

Do I rhyme, do I rhyme, do I redefine?
With the keys that I clatter
do I shape black matter
do I channel the ink, do you think?

Well I try, I permit
for a time I will sit
and get to the bit
where I rhyme on the slither
of white placed before me
the colour that bores me
until the words hit.

I'm cursed with a terrible mindset
I forget all the good of this world
There's evil afoot, and I know of such
but of love am I rarely reminded.

I long for the abstracted season,
when the world's undone at the seams.
When wild gods come knocking, the cradle stops rocking
and insolence bows down to reason.

I yearn for the coming of laughter.
For the chill wind to tell me the tune.
The song still resounding thereafter,
as we walk past the relics and runes.

I show them the gift of the rainstorm.
But few would sit and see.
The Otherland is all around.
But no one's got the key.