I love to take in truth,
but act out lies.

I look for all sorts of proof,
but ignore the impending demise.

For someone in their youth,
I have a lot of worry lines.

Beating my head against you,
like a slightly saner Amanda Bynes.

You keep telling me I'm okay,
and maybe we are fine.

But there's something in the way,
I keep saying all my lines.

What is the reason for my dismay?
I believe it comes from a different time.

I keep praying you won't let me push you away.
But I've got a self-destructive rhyme.

9/2/2014
dedicated to a certain human that lingers in the back of my head*

i think people are brought into our life
for reasons beyond our understanding

i think every person we meet somehow helps us to grow,
somehow makes us stronger,
somehow helps us realize something new about ourselves or the universe

and you were that person to me

you helped me through hell without even holding my hand
all you did was speak to me
and god it felt like every word
dug a flower's stem into my heart
every syllable came across as a melody
and without even meaning to,
you brought me out of my own damnation

i believe that we will always
have some sort of strong,
unspoken,
bond because of that

you told me i made you love life
and don't you know that's the best you could do for anyone?
and don't you know that you are the reason i may still stand utop my own two feet today?

i did not have to search for you,
i did not long for you,
you were simply tossed into my life by an unnatural absurd vibration,
a vibration that i have now begun to see,
and hear

darling,
without even meaning to,
you saved me from the abyss

i was walking on coals and you stopped to help me off,
you didn't mean to,
you were simply being kind

and i live for that kindness,
i live for this vibration,
and i live for you

because for every person that kicks me back down,
i will still,
always,
think of you

© Scarlet Van Allen 2014

Sticks and stones
May break my bones,
But words...
They really hurt me...
To feel this pain,
And show it hurts,
I'll take a blade and make a cut,
Once... Or Twice...
Or maybe more..
Just to feel alive...
But that's not what I want anymore,
To feel alive...
If words never hurt me...
Then I will...
I'll take that blade and make one last cut...
And maybe then... you might stop...

But sticks and stones are what break my bones,
And words aren't meant to hurt me...

I promised only butterflies...
But that promise I cannot keep.
For inside my head there's a wailing..
A screeching...
I just want it to stop...                                         y
It wants pain..it'll stop for pain..         a
But I promised only butterflies..             w
And I don't want them to drift   *a