An island of green
In the midst of a sea of white

A surge, a jolt
within white silence

The vapor
in the depths of the fog

A demon
lost in the clouds and hazy blue

Like lightning
Striking darkness twice

Scattered, her eyes of many colors.

scars of a past I wanted nothing to do with
led me to handcuff myself
to a lampole for security.

I had reached my consensus.

I threw the keys to these cuffs
in mental portals where I thought
no one would dare to ever travel.

Many tried searching
but I intentionally
obstructed access
with deceptive rants of fear and caution.

By then
I was sure
that I had thoroughly built walls of security;
I was safe
...but who would've thought
my aesthetically intellectual design
had a weakness?

The enemy came just as they all did,
hoping to be let in...
but this one reacted differently when the ranting came;
I was now at a disadvantage
because I had no other alternatives for defense.

The enemy showed no care for my security;
It was attractive
And I succumbed while
Never forgetting my plan
Although it seemed my design was nugatory.

My mental lampole and cuffs,
gone.

I was left subjugated
at the feet of a queen
who carried an aura
with the most beautiful spectrum.

Like a bull snake,
promises of security
grappled my core,
draining it of all fear
leaving behind no traces
of deception.

Although defeated,
she still remains my enemy
because serendipity
never seems to stick around.

stripped naked in the figurative sense, I see a girl that is far overdue for a dose of joy. so much emptiness in her eyes, blood flow has become invisible. beauty. oh so much beauty in the way she cares absolutely too much for those that are unaware of her favorite color nevertheless asks how she feels every blue moon. perfectionist could quite possibly be her middle name by the way her heart beats in sync with the spontaneous moods that show their appearance every two days or so. anxiety equals a rapid beat. "if you feel worried then you must act on it" seems to be her philosophy because when she's sad and shaky the heart must go slow.
for,
she.
is.
slow.
when the depression hits and vulnerability only shows its face behind closed doors im sure she would say that she feels as though she's suffocating. suffocating in the figurative sense, where everyone is there watching her but no one can differentiate heavy breathing in basketball practice from a ******* asthma attack.
idiots.
so numb. she's so numb in the figurative sense. you ask her how she is and each time it's an automated "good" as if practiced hundreds of times before a theatre performance. an actress. she's an actress in the literal sense. planting a smile from ear to ear even when it's an obvious gloomy day for everyone else. she puts on a show of happiness that could very much earn her an oscar, if only she were literally in the entertainment business. I can see her falling in the way her back hunches just 10 degrees lower than it had a year ago. I would recommend a doctors appointment but im hoping she learns to fix it on her own. I'm hoping it begins to appear in someone around her that maybe she isn't as okay as she seems. this beautiful perfectionist doesn't just have bad days and doesn't just spare her low moods in spite of upsetting those around her. this beautiful perfectionist doesn't see herself as beautiful. this beautiful perfectionist is so far from perfect.
maybe if someone looked a little deeper in the literal and figurative sense, they would choose to ask, after her automated response of "good", "are you really?"
-mxy

The Vanilla Bean Frappuccino,
who brings chills down my spine every time.
Sweet on the inside, cold-hearted on the outside,
Especially when he leaves me high and dry
in the morning unexpectedly.
He’ll remind me that I’m alive,
And make me feel Zen for a split second,
Then he splits in a second.
Or
The Caramel Macchiato,
Tall with a sophisticated smile
And unrealistically hazel eyes
That read “bello” around his irises.
With a shot of expression—
He’s never afraid to speak how he feels.
But that’s just the Italian in him.
Or
The Pumpkin Spice Latte,
The most popular guy.
He’ll warm me up when I’m cold;
And make me feel like I’m his only one,
He’ll tell me everything I want to hear,
Then he’ll disappear without a sign—
At least until the next year,
Only to continue the same cycle over again.
Or
The Cappuccino,
He’s got a strong mind
like those French roast blends
With a secret soft side.
He speaks with fluidity and is
As charismatic as the rest.
He’s a morning person nonetheless,
And won’t leave me loveless
In the sheets like Mr. Vanilla Bean sometimes does.
Or
The Teavana Chai Tea Latte
He sounds fancy, does he not?
He’s different to say the least,
Layered with many spices,
And from cinnamon trees,
He’s warm-hearted, yet feisty.
Gentle, yet fatuously energetic.
Soft spoken, yet bold,
He doesn’t have to do much
To have me sold to his trance.

Now for me to decide what I want
As more people file in, deliberating the same
Line up as I, but they have more to
Choose from.
Perhaps I should loosen up some, and go
With last one.

Your aura
Is like the fog
underneath the blue sky
beckoning the ground
and settling peacefully, pure.
Thick and lustrous,
completing the world
with every part,
every breath of you.

Dark clouds roll over, rain fall's down. Lighting strikes perfectly and hits the ground, clouds clear up rain settles down.sun comes out and wipes away the frowns.

Why do people insist in the use of figurative language
I am not as blue as the sky (simile)
This sadness is not swallowing me whole (hyperbole)
My tears are not carving new paths down the skin covering my cheeks (imagery)
The frown I wear is not eating the happiness off my face (personification)
This feeling is not a storm that won’t subside (metaphor)
I am not softly shaking so someone stops to shush my sobs (alliteration)
You can’t hear the smashing of tears on the table (onomatopoeia)
There is no way to make this pain sound beautiful
I am sad, plain and simple.
Deal with it.

Your physique is stunning but what's within those walls is pure gold
I want to touch every inch of the thoughts that lead to those feelings of yours
Let my words ****** your fears until they finally give in
I'll massage every one of your tears until they open the doors
Don't try to lock me out for this temptation I can no longer hold
Push away your happiness facade, I want to reach your inner core
Allow me to kiss every bruise inside your long darkened soul
Let our words interwine and your dreams unfold
You've inspired me to aspire
Let me make love to your mind..