I can see your heart
Beating in my dream
Pumping harder and faster
About to burst at the seam
Eyes practically made of laughter
And your psychotic smile
With a voice I can feel,
Deep in my soul
Carrying for miles and miles
You made everything real,
Become nothing I've known
You're a ghost of a previous life
Slicing into my sleep
With a double edged knife
Silently waiting to strike
Yet, you always seem to disappear
Just before the final blow
With nothing to see or hear
And no where left to go
I drift off into my mind
A mass of blank space
With no way to rewind
Travel to another place
Or any other time
The distance between falling
and finally waking
Is immeasurably long
Because
This dream has become a nightmare
And not only are you gone
But you were never really there

Womanhood

In my ever eternal fight between
Pain and rapid mood swings
I have learned to accept
What I have been given by my mother.

Womanhood

In my ever insulting fight between
Objectification and misunderstanding
I have come to understand
"My body is a temple"
Is not a complement but an insult.

Womanhood

As my hair grows longer and longer
And I cut it shorter and shorter
And people tell me to "look more feminine"
I can't help but dress "more masculine."

Womanhood

Because I have to accentuate my assets
With tight jeans and skinny dresses
And if I forget a push-up bra
"It's a boy" jokes are made.

Womanhood

Because my knowledge of cars
And my firm hand shake
Awes men and makes them test me
Instead of conversing with me and moving on with their day

Womanhood

Because I am scared to leave the house by myself
And my father's overbearing protection
Instead of believing I can protect myself
In any given situation

Womanhood

Because my brother can go out whenever he wants
And can curse like a sailor
But I have to be a sweet southern belle
And answer a million and one questions just to take a walk

Womanhood

Because we have to justify ourselves
Because guys have to be perfect in the eyes of "feminists"
Because all of this bullsh!t has gone over the edge.

Womanhood

I can't call myself a feminist
And I sure ain't a misogynist
I'm just trying to scrape by
Just trying to get through this trying

Womanhood

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10
Counting
Does not
Help the
Anger that
Is in my soul.
I have been cursed to become this abyss of endless cruelty and sadness. I cannot be saved and to be frank I do not wished to be saved.
I am a knife.
Do not complain
Of what you have forged me into.

Recurring thoughts, dark visions of a reality that can never be. A false time with false hope. Harsh lives, perishing in smoke.

I am a builder of many mountains
My bones grew with the limbs of trees
My rain will fill your empty fountains
I am the flowers and I am the bees

My bones grew with the limbs of trees
You hear my voice in the song of a bird
I am the flowers and I am the bees
I am blood, bone, sinew, fur

You hear my voice in the song of a bird
I paint the colors of the sunrise
I am blood, bone, sinew, fur
I lay where the fallen tree lies

I paint the colors of the sunrise
You feel my sting of bitter cold
I lay where the fall fallen tree lies
I am forever young and growing old

You feel my sting of bitter cold
I am the spider that traps the fly
I am forever young and growing old
My love it stretches from sea to sky

I am the spider that traps the fly
My rain will fill your empty fountains
My loves it stretches from sea to sky
I am a builder of many mountains

The day I put a mirror to my heart, To find out who I really was,
This world didn't change me, it didn't burn me with its flame,
No! I gave in to it, And once again I had no one else blame.

By now most of you know now,
This is your story too,
And no matter how much we draw and paint it red, green and blue,
We just can't fake it anymore.
It's still just cardboard world,
Yearning to be burnt down.

Night
(which curls like smoky velvet
And stains the world like spilled ink, the colour of lost thoughts)
...
Descends
(like a torrent of rain, cloaking the golden world in whispers and dark corners)
...
Softly,
(More tender than a mother, it difts like floating silken feathers and starry dreams)
...
Covering
(So completely as mummies wrapped in promises, clinging lustily to skin like wet cloth)
...
The world
(Our world, blazing with light)
...

In silence

Whitch hazel.

The perfect flower.

Spiky and uneven

Bright and bold

All others bloom in summer, let little girls have their fun with them

Witch hazel blooms in the dead of winter, when the cold becomes to much and all else fails. It pokes it's head above the snow. It tells the world I WILL NOT DIE!

Witch hazel the beauty born in the pain.

Born in a thunderstorm
I was on my own
All these years
I lived with the tides
I'm still breathing
Boy, am I glad to be alive

You can take a stab at my heart
And rip it apart
Over and over again
I flinch at the pain
You wouldn't know
But you just take it slow
While I go with the flow
Never have I thought
I could deal with such a blow