.
and our lives are so well
d                                               c
e                                               r
t                                               a
r                                               f
a                                               t
t                    ­                           e
s                                               d
ew erehw dne syawla ew
.

You

carried
me long enough
that  I  could  no longer
strife and anger for myself. You
carried all these sins and melancholy
on your back, only letting me taste the
silver spoon in my mouth. You taught me
me to sit and behave, make no unappealing
sounds, but mother, your daughter belonged
to anger and strife for your mother, all her other
children, and for you whose only words breath that
of broken reassurance and empty pledges of safety. All
but a solace chant against reeking tyranny. My ears grew
accustomed
to the cacophony
of revolt in between your lullabies.
The blood of the covenant assimilated
with the water of the womb. So mother,
I ask you to pony my hair now and forgive
me. Your children will dot all
thoroughfares and bellow 'no'
for you. So you do not have
to kneel to every friend, to
ev’ry conqueror, stroke their
*****, then cry yourself to sleep

.
yo ur
to   u   ch
ign   i   tes
my  heart
set ting
m y
******>u l
on
f i
re
gi
vi
ng
aw
ay
yo
ur
pa
rt
ta
ki
ng
in
my
de
si
re

Y  o  u     t  o  l   d    m  e
  t  h  a  t        I        w  a  s  
C           O            L         D
  B   u    t     i     t     w  a  s  
    y      o      u       w    h    o    
n       e        v        e        r
  t    r    i    ­e    d        t     o  
B       R       E        A        K
        t      h     e         i      c     e.     .      .     .

i am full            of colors
blue and pink     red and black
always moving and changing
there are things i dont know
things i cannot know
and it drives me
crazy

○               °  
°           °       ○
°      ○
○           °
I      d   o   n  '  t
k     n       o     w
    h  o  w    l o n g    
I    h  a   v   e  .
F o r   a l l   I
k  n  o  w
I ' l l
m
a
k
e
every
second of it count.

☆                                  ☆                             ☆  

T                            H                          E
c r             own   I      we            ar
  c a        n  not  b e     s  e      en,
t h e   k i  n  g   d     o m     I  
    r u l e     stays      hid den;  
☆☆☆☆☆☆the☆☆☆☆☆☆
  c         a       V      i     t       y
  created by my queen,
depicts   the    LOVE
 that was forbidden.
☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

I
saw
a weep-
ing willow
with dried tears—
perhaps it learned to
hold hands with its fears.
I wonder if its roots are still
tangled in self-pity, if it realizes
what a waste it is to not notice its
own beauty. I know its branches
of hope will forever climb up the
sky, for it is a strong warrior
whose spirit will never,
ever die.

A
wild
thin
flame
burns

In shaky hands she walks on
Shadows flickering on the walls
Dark figures
stretch down
tunnel halls
Monsters
come alive
in the depths of
estranged minds
And deep down
   in her very soul
There is a wild fire, burning strong
Engulfing the curtains of darkness
Where her fears hide behind.