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KL Taguiam Jan 2016
i don't know if what i'm feeling is real,
but what i know is that i want
to stay by your side.

i don't know if what i think about you
is real, but i know that what you are
as beautiful as the stars in the sky.

i don't know if what i see in you
is the real deal, but I know that
your eyes shine the brightest
when you pluck the strings
of your old guitar.

i don't know if you are real,
but i know that when you hold
her hand, you are more real
than i ever saw you.

and that crushes me the most.
kelly Jan 2016
My nose is benumbed with the
chill, and the cold and the numb
but the touch of her thumb
****** the ice out of me
and into her.
My lips were dry without
her warmth, left with the sweet
painful taste of craving
dehydrated,
drained.
My ears hurt with the
screaming, and the constant streaming
of her tears, and the tears,
in her heart,
in her eyes.
My eyes are blinded by the
nothingness, and the stark contrast
of her pale skin, and her pale face,
against the darkness,
the blackness.

and finally,
what do you see
she asks me
there's nothing to see
i reply.
why can't you see
why can't you see
wHYCAN'TYOUSEE
she yells
because you won't let me
i whisper.
idk what this is ****
Lauren Leal Jun 2015
I'm cold
I'm weak
I'm alone
I'm sad
You're **perfect
When you hit the bottom, most everyone seems so perfect.
Katherine D Mar 2015
Why did you leave
on a mid-summer eve?
In you I believe
and could not perceive.

Why did you desert?
I hit the dirt,
running on high alert,
but couldn't escape the hurt.

Why did you leave me to raise
your daughter in a daze?
You condemned me to a maze,
you set my dreams ablaze.

What was your campaign?
What did you hope to attain?
I am assaulted by pain
and deemed insane.
            
You left me in the cold
with truths untold
I was sold
for fool's gold.

~*K.D
questions i wish i could ask my mother.
Shelly Woods Oct 2014
You can see the ugly words that hurt;
or you can see the pain that lies underneath.
The perception will be your reality;
but your perception is your choice.
Shelly Woods Oct 2014
There is so much that I wish I could understand…
and so much more I wish I could explain.
The love I feel inside comes out distorted;
I feel trapped inside a prison—a prison called “what you see of me”.

Some are afraid of who they really are…
But I am afraid no one knows who I really am;
No one sees what is deep inside of me.
I am forever stuck inside perceptions—a prison called “what you see of me”.

I keep trying to improve; I keep trying to reconcile.
The distortions have become my prison; I am trapped inside hell.
If it is hell to you and it is hell for me… then what the hell am I doing?
believing I can change—a prison called “what you see of me”.

With every fail, the pain deepens…
Successes are too little; successes are too late.
How to receive love; How to give love…
when I must question everything that everybody sees?
How I say it (not what I believe) is the reason I reside in—a prison called “what you see of me”.

A description of me sounds like a description of my worst enemy.
A burden to society; A thorn to those who try to love me;
A hindrance to those who want to know me.
It isn’t the real me… it is the weathered walls of—a prison called “what you see of me”.

But isn’t perception another form of reality?
What does it matter what I am… if that is all anyone can see?
I suppose I know the answers; I just don’t know the why…
Why I continue to believe that I can change—a prison called “what you see of me”.
Martin Narrod Jun 2014
Most peculiarly of most things was that I thought all of this very fishy, daudry, drab, and boresome. This is where I turn on the second table lamp...

In a muster I arrived to the home of my aunt, where at once she drew me into the back of the house, down a flight of stairs made of tusk and bone into a catacomb where she kept a alive collection of wooly mammoths. She said the upkeep wasn't awfully horrendous as she had an invisible backdrop which led to a lion, a witch, and a wardrobe sort of thing. I stood in the gangway behind 10 foot high thigh bones waiting for one of the monstrous red beasts to come greet me, but what arrived was a very large elephant with longer tusks than usual. None of the red sillyness which I had dreamt of seeing in my previous years.

She could see I was not that impressed, and so I was led to another part of her home. Around the corner walked in my uncle in is superb and luxurious dress, reminiscent of 18th century British military fatigues. He said, "I bought the E.T. ride from Universal Studios, but as bringing the whole ride to my home I had them adapt a more suitable version to fit the property. A hangar opened and inside there were four chariots of orange and blue, diamond shaped school buses with their undersides aimed at withholding a V-shaped street. Then in two and two single file order all the classmates of my K-12 years arrived and took seat into the strappings of this 'ride' we were to take. Music played, John Williams even was produced by hologram, and after the ups and downs for several minutes we arrived to what I thought would inevitably be the forest, but rather was what I perceived was a Finnish town. The chariot I was in was stuck in the street, mud, rain, and soot entrenched us. I unbuckled the polyester straps and when I stood I realized that though the seats had built in urinals and toilets they were utterly noiseome to the senses. I followed a local girl to a food mart where I asked how I could find where I was but no one spoke a drop of English.

I corraled the group and told them to wait for me. I followed this girl who seemed quite younger than I to a small apartment in the uppermost floor of a very unsturdy chapel-like home several suburban blocks from our ride. She immediately removed her pants and I saw with my very own eyes that she was hairless and nubile. She insisted that we have a ****, and after I caressed her and complained too that she was far too young, she insisted that the age of consent in Germany was actually 13 yet she was 16. I remember it clearly. The most gigantuous feelings of pleasure as I mended a studio closet for my dining room furniture inside her ripening channel. Eventually after an hour we finished, she offered me a towel and some biscuits, which I consumed joyously.

Upon leaving her home I remembered that she had said we were in Germany, and so I produced a measure of Deutsch that I had been saving in my repetoir for the right moment. As Finnish is not my strongest language I was pleased of this and became instantly popular among the other candidates of our journey. This  E.T. ride is far different than  I remember it having been. Moments later I awoke quickly, a tuft of her black hair on my eiderdown comforter and a veil of tears from the merriment of glee shrouded over my face. After I rolled and balled into the soft feathers of my bedding, I twisted myself again into a knot, and allowed myself to rejoin the soporific treatice I was aiming for.

This is now where I turn off both lamps and go on watching films of a similar style.

Wishing You The Very Best,

Sir Martin Narrod

I keep my family of conscience
I shred my folly of heir
In case of torment or fondness
I never wear underwear.
Dark Jewel May 2014
Perspective.
Defined by the way you look at things.

What your views are,
Are very different,
Or Similar to mine.

Perceive well.
For your opinions are acknowledged freely.
But that does not mean,
That WE Agree.

What we see,
What we experience.
Is quite different from your nationality.

We do not fear this world,
Just fear what lies ahead for all.
What I see is very different from people. Use your eyes to see into the souls of others...

— The End —