I read a book sometimes
It save me from my crimes
Bring me to another world
And let me catch the wisdoms of gold

If you like this poem let me know,
I live in Canada,
Oh all the snow.

I am a Caucasian female,
I guess i'm pretty bright,
Can't stop watching the news about the fight!

Worried and happy,
ALIVE! so alive,

I'm 28 and so far; I have been able to get by,

If your like me and love to write,
Something you could do almost every night,

Add me as a friend,
And comments we can send,
Stories and poems to pretend,
Again and again.

Maybe the truth,
The plot that gets foiled, yes, are youth,
Disappearing like the petals of a rose,
But our words stay in the souls,
Who read,

Reading.... read... done.

lightness descends
in the head,

as brief visions of yours,
reincarnate within myself

you were not just a beauty
last night,
you were a poetic illusion,

an art made of small verses,
brewing sinful temptations

and I read you very slowly,
like one of my own written creations,

for I have been a starving reader
all my life,

and you were finally
an end to my starvation.

Okay, let's be profound for a second, let's be cheesy, sappy, gross or whatever you want to call it for just a second. Because it's better to have it out there then to bottle it all up inside of yourself.

Do you feel?
I try to, in the shower. I attempt to feel something, anything, so I take off my glasses, and I turn the water temperature to boiling. And I just stand there, hot water streaming down my back, trying to feel something. I guess I do, I feel the heat radiating off my back, I feel the cold when I step away. But I don't feel.  
When I take off my glasses, all I can see are blobs of color, sometimes I prefer that to the world I see through my glasses, here, everything is whatever you want it to be, you can see a mixture of blues and reds and you don't have to just assume it's a balled up sheet. It can be anything you want it to be.
So when I take off my glasses in the shower I hope to be transported to this realm, but I don't. I stay, where the walls are white and shampoo bottles line the shelves. I stay in the place where I can't have creativity, where I don't  feel like anything.
Do you ever think to yourself, I exist, try it sometime. I acknowledge that I exist as a person, I exist, but for what purpose? Will you find that purpose with another human being? With an animal? With a job? Who knows. I just hope that I find mine soon. Because standing in the shower, hot water pouring down onto my body, I think of this, I think, is this what I'm supposed to be doing? Is this what I'm meant to be? Someone who tries desperately to cling onto people, someone who hates sharing her friends because I am scared they will run away, someone who can't trust her best friend not to leave just like the other ones who stole the label best friend has. Someone who doesn't think she is good enough for anyone.
Since I can't feel anything don't you think that I should be a thrill seeker, I'm the absolute opposite, I've tried stuff like that before, it doesn't help, it just makes people worry, makes people judge, I don't like that. The only time I think I feel something is when I'm in the shower or reading. Reading is my escape, I go into someone else, I see what they see I finally feel. People think it is weird that I don't think when I read. It's because I Feel when I read.
I don't enjoy reading in between the lines while enjoying a good book, I Like to just go with what the author is attempting to get across. When I do this, I feel something. Even if it's a fake rush of adrenaline, or anxiety because of something a character did in a book. I still feel something.
Do you feel?
I try to, in the shower.

In my words, she read despair
A tone that rung so crystal clear
She took her meaningless, and loss of innocence
And watched as my heart began to break

In my voice she heard the fear
As my words fell into her ears
I couldn't bear to play it straight
As she watched me start to break

Thankless and adamant
Not a drop went to waste
I can't forget, a single day
As she laughed, and watched me start to break

**** it
I lied
I don't need to justify
My time, wasted with you in memory

Funny how things look so clear

Standing here, all alone
Surrounded by the ghost that haunt the
Air I breath, screaming now
Founded on the things I predicate

You watched my heart start to break

In my words, she read despair
A tone that rung so crystal clear
She took her meaningless, and loss of innocence
And watched as my heart began to break

how do you write
things you want to tell
paint them with colours
by words, them heaven and hell.


fill it up with something
beautiful, something that
won't hurt the reading eye


how do you describe
a feeling, a feeling
you would rather hide.








is it strange to seek
a home without walls ?







is it not the normal-
to breed comfort and
a smile, in a world
you don't fully understand.


what about those scars-
those which make you,
you.


and what do you see,
when you see a sea of blue-
an ocean or the sky ?


birds or fish,
is it selfish to see
what you'd rather see
in a sea, that has nothing
to offer.


i remember when the laughter
used to fill the vacuum,
and i could breathe, as free
and as clear as on a mountain,
miles away from the pollution
down below.


hello. are you still there ?
do you hear me screaming,
do you hear me dying.


how low, is the rock bottom.
i've been falling for a while.


or is it that, i'm flying ?

“think big, girl
think king sized”
if he finds meaning in something meaningless
is he intelligent or is he a fool
is he hard as an adult or soft as a child
he couldn’t  understand what they meant by sticking your head in the oven
by heating the cerebral thoughts
that connected to your brain
purple frog
red lizard
chicken with yellow feathers
a cat scratch
a soft mark
melting snow
“take care”

I've painted the sun on my window
in a hope, that it blinds my every morning, that it keeps me in light
of the shadows all around me.

I've drawn little stars and a smile
on the curtains, dancing against
the stained walls and holes, you can see the sky from.

clouds don't hinder my thoughts,
but feed into me the questions that rained in from far away galaxies,
crashing into the core of reality-
birthing a finality, finally.

stretching the length of my veins,
questions flow to my brain.
every word is like a needle,
abusing my brain, and they tell me
to look myself in the eye,
as if i can't see what I became,
as if i don't realise what's infront of my eyes, when it starts to rain.

i'm drowning in my blames,
i cannot swim in this sea of shame.
i'm just drowning in flames,
peeling my skin where my heart is,
now it is that more easy to give up-
to give in once again.

my train of thoughts is caught up,
to the knees, stuck inside faults and
flaws. there's no law in this barren
land made of star dust and with dusk.

i've read the story word to word,
and still nothing makes sense, no song, no lore-

for it is when you stop looking
you find what you really came for.