Feel pity for the turtle,
Born captive in a bowl.
Swimming in a circle,
A life been bought and sold.

He has his natural instincts,
Engrained in DNA.
I wonder what he thinks,
Being captive every day.

To him, it must feel wrong.
A missing link to life.
Pondering all along,
Why his surroundings don't suffice.

If released to the wild,
Survival would be scarce.
He's been captive since a child.
Born an artificial heir.

The turtle knows only this society,
It's what he's been born into.
His intuition - alive, indeed,
Tells him what turtles do.

I watch him in his tank, a curse.
How it must feel strange.
Born to fulfill a turtle's life purpose,
But forced into walls, by humans who exchange.

I feel pity for the turtle,
Then realize my foolishness.
Humans, too, know the artificial -
Yearning for natural happiness.

We build up our own glass walls,
And bear children to not see,
That there is life beyond this all,
That offers more than we think we need.

We, too, are like turtles,
Having a purpose to fulfill.
We overcome so many hurdles,
Within glass walls that ****.

They say " You can't "
I say " I can "

They say " You'll never be enough "
I say " I've always been enough "

They say " You'll never add up to anything ''
I say " I'm here aren't I. "

You just have to remember that there will always be someone to criticize you.
You just have to stand up and say "No, I'm tired of what They say,this is what I say.

Sing sweetly to sleep
Those scars that still
Slither softly inside
Your skull.
Soon they’ll see
The strength that resides
In your slumbered soul.

With my womanly looks,
I shall ****.
These child bearing hips always
fuel a thrill.


My blood stained lips and
gunmetal eyes will surely
make a man's ego
plummet,

go downhill.


I am a lover, but no,
I do not transform for you.


Do not complain about the ink on my face,
for I am my own writer,
so please give me my space.

Learn to love me coated or not
because I live for me, but also your embrace.

Bright must be the light that shines from within, deep and roaring with the overwhelming radiance of a thousand suns.
The fuel surges through our veins and our tried courage the ember which sets the blaze of triumph raging through the ages.
We are the light, bane of the dark.
Fear not the flames, for our valour is the blade that splits the sky a sunder, sending ripples through the very fabric of the universe for all eternity.
The great white wolf walks at our side and the raven reveals to us the route less traveled. Righteous with our every step to purge this existence of the wicked and the cruel.
Lay down beloved foe, you are forgiven.
And when it is our time to die, our death song will thunder with all the resounding clarity of a dying star.
Guardians of savage love and serine peace. Let the sweet scent of roses take you away,  feel the kind sun kiss your flesh and greet death with a smile. Hello old friend I'm coming home... Victorious.

I am truer than my lies,
Louder than my doubts,
Surer than my insecurities;

I am fairer than my flaws,
Heavier than my airs,
Quieter than my anxieties;

I am stronger than my failures,
Calmer than my rages,
Happier than my tears;

I am humbler than my vanities,
Wiser than my mistakes,
Bigger than my fears.

*(c) emeraldine087

I was detached
so I could wander
hand in hand with the wind.
Who am I now?
I feel so frail
and my flowers are long gone.
“Look what I've become”
I say to no one
as the buzzards cry.
Their shadows circle me
like dark moons in a galaxy
starving for life —
am I not alive?

I've never seen flesh
that was still carrying a soul,
but the wind tells me stories
of slinking through their hair
when the world was young —
I can smell their skin on its breath,
its breath that’s carried me
to the edge of the earth a thousand times
to find only stars
that those ancient, mysterious people worshiped
before I was even a seed.

Am I qualified to pray
to those stars that have lead us
to a thousand sunrises?
Will they even hear me
with this voice that is only a rustle
across rocks and dirt,
this voice that is literally nothing but a ...

my soul who shapes the clouds
who possess my dry body, and countless others all at once
interrupts me
and whispers yes.

I smell the gods in its voice now.

I am an artist,
With a blank state,
And I raise mountains in my lungs,
With breaths of cold air,

I am a painter,
I eat swords, I eat fire,
You can call me Cassandra,
You can call me a liar,

I am a writer,
But my pen has no ink,
You won't laugh at my words but I won't make you think,

I am a fortress,
And I will pull through,
If you bleed for me,
then I'll bleed for you

I am vilified,
Because my stories are old,
Yet as hard as I try,
I can't spin them to gold.