The spectres of the past 

That haunt me 

Causing me extreme pain that 

I feel I can not handle 

At the moment 

But I know I 

Will oust these ghosts

From my life

Not the other way around

As I walk around 

I see that there in 

A crack of cement 

Is a plant growing

As I find that the plant is struggling 

I water it

And help it grow 

Soon there are buds on the plant

A flower




It’s a poppy

Doing the impossible

Yes I am goth
That doesn't makes me
The big-bad wolf
I am just trying
To live like everyone
Else
Despite my scary
Clothing and make-up
It's just that clothing
And makeup as well
Music ; it does not
Have baring
On how I act

In times long past, the builder made
a forest temple in the shade
of tall oaks, maples, locusts fair,
each carved stone an unspoken prayer.

There amongst the autumn whispertrees,
I open the old temple gate with ease
and hear the trees sing psalms of solace,
to partake in this painted place’s promise.

To tarry here with trees well dressed
is where I my newfound faith confess,
communing with colors in tailored hues
and with the sacred scent of life imbued.

Why am I tired all the time? The fact is I am not. I only sleep all the time to escape. Escape the world, to escape the truth. The truth that I'm slowly rotting away and on one seems to care. The truth is I am in constant never ending pain.the truth that I am weak and shy. The truth that no one wants me. The truth that I am nothing but a waste of space. The truth that no matter how hard I try I will never be good enough. I will never be someone's first choice or even their second. I will never compare to any of the girls my age.the truth that I have to bury how I don't upset those around me. But when I close my eyes I am transformed into a new world. A world where I am the main character. Where I am beautiful and everyone loves me. Where I am strong and powerful; where people fear me. Where I soar above thing that once weighted me down like boulders. I am happy and the pain that consumes me disappeared. where I no longer want to my suffering. Where I am at peace ad everything is quiet for once. But I always open my eyes and I am reminded that none of it is real. And I will always be a shattered pain of glass that can never be fixed. So I'm not tired; sleeping is just my only escape. Sleeping is my drug that I will aduse hoping it kills me.

I want to say thank you now
for every poet here
who dares to use their voice
in prose
to face their deepest inner fear

that we alone are not enough when that is just a bald faced lie
cuz we were born just perfectly the truth
and we will be more so when
eventually we die
we just forget this incoveinent truth
because
they
clipped our wings to stop our fly
embedded in deep messages
and told to us as wicked lie
and when I think about this now
it really makes me shrug & sigh
and every now and then ya know
it overwhelms
and then my spirit has enough to  cry

****.
deeper sigh....

I believe,

we hear a voice of broken generations
we hear deep within our mind
and that voice it could be one or many
and man that thing can be so ******* mean unkind
but we can unlearn deprogram change
and what you think inside we'll find?

EVERYTHING.

Ma Cherie © June 2018