I see him every single day. The longing inside of me aches for his acknowledgement. His knowing of my existence.But truly I should hate him. He is a monster after all. I hide in the shadows of halls and argue with myself. There are people at my school who cannot let others joy pass through their sights. It’s as if their desire is to make everyone else weak so therefore they can maintain their power. But what is power that is taken from negativity? I will never know so therefore I will never speak up. I can’t speak up. No one will ever hear me or see me. No one even notices me unless I fall and cry or break when the teacher calls on me. I’m their daily amusement. My hands are always clenched in agony and my heart is always being ripped into shreds from vain conquests. Despite the tear in my throat my heart beats for the ailing souls of the forgotten. It knows what the others don’t see and hear. Despite my agonizing breathes of air I’m still alive today. How I can still walk with my breaking bones and how I can still see through the foggy lenses society has bestowed upon me is truly beyond me.
I cannot allow myself to speak. Speaking takes energy. I don’t have enough energy to simply express my being and then have my voice heard. My voice is quiet and raspy with edges of cut mirrors and thorny rose bushes. I used to be a lemon tree sweet and sour but golden and sunny as most people expected from me and came to realize and to be simply put that was their recognition. But then the hazy storms of dread pricked my fragile fingers and brought forth blood of ruins. I was ruined. But at first they didn’t care. They wanted to see me for the way they knew me and not the way I had became. How was it fair that she got the recognition from her ex and not I? Not everyone knows of my full story simply because of the sacred secrecy I have been cursed with. He has banished all thoughts of fantasy and left me as a beggar for mercy.
Killing time before going home, lemon pie and coffee and sat watching the world go by People watching to pass the time they all seem having a bad day trying to get there shopping done Christmas over a new year to begin wonder what the new year has In store for me anything has to better than the year thats just gone
Sat killing time lemon pie coffee In hand watching the world go by people watching
Everyone says it's not poetry unless it's got rhyme. Well I wouldn't buy that for a dime. My brain's a giant mess, why would i try to make what I say any less? Organization and aesthetics, you say? well ***** that, anyway.
Coffee shops. Lemon drops. Those rhyme! You'll see what i do with those in time. Or maybe not; I've already done a lot.
All this irony's made my brain jello, so it's time to say hello (to the end of this poem).
I'm crying it's study hall and i'm bored as fuckkkk so you get this weird thing
╰⊰✿´ℒ♡ⓥℯ'✿⊱╮ Golden, crisp, buttery base cups the lemon curd, creamy, zesty-sweet and rich silken on my tongue Fluffy flower-crown tips soft-brown Hmm! ╰⊰✿⊱╮
Gonna have a whole collection dedicated to food and treats! ^-^ This format is called the 'Epulaeryu' - A poem about gorgeous food! It consists of seven lines with a total of 33 syllables. The form is 7/5/7/5/5/3/1. My mom treated me and my sister to some cakes in a lovely Bistro not far from us a few days ago. I'm a lover of lemon cakes but they didn't have any - only lemon meringue tarts which I agreed to try with some Jasmine Tea ;) Man, they were both delicious! And the music took me to a small Parisian cafe! Be back soon! Lyn ***
You are no lemon, or lime but for some reason you are still bitter, even more so than a grapefruit and I credit envy with the way you are so green. Perhaps you are this way because it is winter when you bloom and the sun isn’t out to kiss you in the way it does with oranges.